The Word for Writers

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Freshair

Fresh air,
thin slices of pure air,
as though sharpened on the cutting edge
of some massive ice shelf,
cutting a path through these pine conifers,
sweeping down these mountain slopes,
reviving every thing in its path-

Fresh mountain air,
singing in whispery swishing swipes;
life's rhythm,
as it passes through these green forests,
reviving-

These slices of sharp plangency,
tingling sparks of ice cold air,
points of passing delight,
this sharp freshness-

Freshair,
bearing reminders,
of mint,
pina colada,
iced drained sugarcane juice,
yellow mangoes,
tang of strawberry,
tangy tangerines,
sparkling soda in an iced bottle,
hot tropical sun,
sea breeze-

Reminders,
of golden beaches,
green coconut palms swishing,
the quiet of a tropical midday,
sun twelve o'clock high
shady trees,
islands of canopied shadow,
protecting from a blazing sun,
all the time with a breeze blowing-

Fresh strong breeze,
blowing away stale dormancy,
of stagnant calm,
lifitng the stiff calico window blinds,
whispering to the old lace overhang,
till laughter gushes forth,
and textile dances to nature's rhythm-

Fine layers of fibers swaying,
responsorial ochestration of nature,
of varying intensity,
in sustained sweeping motion,
seeming uniformity of varied composition,
fine strands of terpsichorial delight,
merged in one mighty harmonious composition,
freshair blowing renewal in its wake
each strand undefinable,
albeit a fine point that defines the whole-

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