Mind adrift valleys
Splitting the clouds
Irises flecked grey
In idle wonder —
If she were to be
Part of nature’s discourse
Perhaps she’d be enlivened
By the jovial whispers
Exchanged between the palms
Fronds prodding and poking
Wind’s funny bone
Coaxing howls of serendipity
Rushing warm
By her cold ear
But the joke’s on her
Unable to understand
Their carefree banter
As she sits
With knees hugged tight
Beneath the sun’s open smile
Grass blades and petals
Point dewy fingers
Pitying the dull lines
Engraving her face
In melancholic shadows
Nomad Writer 
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