Few morning travelers tread this path today.
Heads down, eyes barely open.
Minds busy with thoughts of dreaming.

The wind whips around naked tree limbs,
Sweeping down, tossing hair about my face
Like a mischievous sibling.
It paints my cheeks a rosy pink
And I grin.

I inhale deeply, clinging to the fresh, moist
Smell of an early rain.
The cool air coaxes small goose bumps from my skin.
I can taste the sweet familiarity.

The sun peeks out from behind
A gray and white curtain.
Her warm rays of light reach down
To cup my cheek like a mother’s hand.

How terrible to waste such precious sensations.
Truly, it is a crime against Gaia
To take these gifts for granted.