I breathe deeply
of the sweet morning air,
the scented air; touched and
touching, marked and marking,
impressed and impressing
all within the glorious space
in which I find myself alive.
This morning I am fragrance of
sunshine-warmed leaves and an
energetic April wind tussling the
combs of Scots pine. I am scent of
rain in the night, drying quickly in a
patch of light. I am blossom of early
flowering shrubs and molecules
rubbed close to the tulip’s ample
bosom. I am fresh as ever was the
I breathe another grateful breath for
there is another one, and another
after that, waiting to be deliciously

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.

2 thoughts on “Air

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