For a while now I've been walking,

watching as patches of milky clouds glide over the morning sky

and observing the dances performed by all the trees

who sway to the music of the wind,

and even though they're each completely unalike,

their movement create a uniform wave of serenity

that washes over me

and then pulls back into its sea of blue possiblities.

The sun doesn't rashly shine a spotlight on any single dancer--

rather the light becomes speckled through their woody arms

and it peeks through the dense neighborhoods of green

all the way down to me,

as if to catch my eye and make sure

I'm still looking up.

Entranced, I keep gazing,

and as the trees change costume

and add spots of red, orange, and yellow,

awe fills up my chest

as the green tide turns into a gradient of mahogany

that ripplies like the deep scarlet curtain

signaling the close to a grand performance.

I don't know when or how it will end,

but hopefully I'll still have my chin up often enough

so I can catch the whole show.