The Box

On my afternoon stroll, I observe the clouds play footsie with the sun. I can appreciate the passing, but long for the rays of the sun to kiss; to thaw. Spring grows in magnificent hues creating a feel of rebirth. Birds fly tree to tree as if a chase has begun. Then there are the passer-byers in deep conversation about everything and nothing.

My hands knuckle deep in my pockets, Converse hovering over the rugged cement below and shades deflecting sporadic beams. I think and ponder what life holds, desiring a glance into the wonderful intricacy of  invisible webs weaved.

The Box.