Crescendos of senses
Just a few origins of scent in my garden.
Tantalising the swaying breeze,
Rustling in the leaves of two trees
The calls of birds
Hawks to hummingbirds,
Rhythms of fanning wings melodic to the heartbeat of the graspable springs quiete gurgling nurture.
The shadows of the night still breathing a cooling kiss for the coming heat of the day.
The smells crisp, some still dormant before the waking by the sun.
In ancient patterns of nature, melodies woven in the dance of birth and decay.
growing crescendos of senses