With my feet on the leaf crunch, and two leg elbows kissed by the breeze, I am aware. When the pine’s turn into soft wood, and the dandelions die, we are reminded of the beauty. The beauty in the breath of our bellies. Would there be Summers, or poetry in cabins, or wool sweater stretches, or fire smoked eyes, if we never heard the Autumn bird’s song?
As the weather turns, I wonder where my tights are. This outfit was worn before dancing, and wine, and frolicking.
kisses and hand holds !