What draws you to the meadows,
little girl…
one photograph after another, of open fields
and tiny fists clenching wildflowers–
weeds to anyone else,
but their petals beckon me.
Who loves me,
who loves me not…

Wandering in fields of green,
I can breathe in the perfume of flowers
and grass.
Run free, little foal.

I search…
for what, I don’t know–
peace in nature,
soothing smells, sounds;
a breeze blowing away worries
that little minds should never have.

I look for simple beauty, bracelets
made from tiny daisies,
fragile as my heart.

I find a respite
from what my soul can’t bear,
my pure mind can’t understand.

Even now, when I see a field, I get the urge
to run free.



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