Time holds out its hands offering gifts, as fruit on trees, gifts remembered as a child when the world shone deeper with the vibration of wonder, filling fresh Spring air with silks of dawn swirling over dewed grass when you ran, feet bare, listening to each birdsong spiraling its melody above a green, green garden, flowers wide-eyed to splash in sun, perfume rising like incense, colors moving like dreams.
Rain falls, glittering its necklace into my open hands before copper sunset retreats dancing into blue-black night threaded with stars, to turn again, calling me from safety of sleep to receive another gift.
