Warm touch of sun behind the veil
scent of flowers and rain
loamy earth and crisp wind
raising hairs with winter's echo

Is it rain on my eyes,
an encompassing coolness
unsalted in its trickles
as the sky rumbles in grumpy disposition
a calming overlapping roll
that almost drowns the songs in the canopy

For this quiet
murmurs of the world
softened at the edges and muffled
leave the slow pace of life
ever a companion.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Bellum, in the year 578 AD.