Still.
I am still.
Sat in a pool of golden splendour
Upon the heat soaked carpet.
Baking gently, in the warmth of the sun.
As the viscous, golden, heavy light
Caresses my Winter-darkened soul.
Stains it with the promise of Spring.
From black-brown to red,
Through amber, to gold,
As rich, and as welcoming as honey tinged ale
I can taste on my tongue.
And I yawn.
I stretch; And I fall.
Fall forward into mindfulness.
In the warmth of the sun. 15th March 2014
