She is mellow, creating what I saw as ordinary;

The loving, ebony colored tree tugged tenderly at the velvety skin of my collar.

She whispered gingerly in my ear as I clung to my fragile and flimsy, tattered journal.

The cushiony turf licks at my ankles, begging to be greeted with a dull tremor.

She flirts with the blossoming blooms; winking and fluttering her wispy lashes.

The slate pencil, battered and tattered, rests behind my ear as I draw a shallow breath

She is tranquil, caressing my hair;

The fog, almost mythical, compels my eyes to draw shut as I rest against an ample boulder.

She whisks me to a bountiful slumber.

The haze is transparent, giving way to dawn.

She glows, descending in the alluring hues;

The trudge home awakens a sense of belong.

She is Mother Nature.

(Poetry has taught me that nature is beautiful. That with even the worst parts of nature, their purpose is truly soul awakening, Sensory words can change and impact how one sees nature, and that is how I learned to appreciate the gruesome yet beautiful aspects of Mother Nature.)