Saturday, 22 September 2012

175. A Tactile Postcard

The wind stalls early in the morning,
gentling down to a breeze so soft
nothing ruffles or flutters in the currents.
The sun paints over my skin, my hair
with a careful touch barely noticeable
under the air dancing around my face.
The moment feels idyllic, like a postcard
of a tactile scene rather than the visual,
but I know the sun will continue to heat
the air so this perfect weather cannot last
another hour.

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