We roll

We roll, over meadows and grassy mixture, among weeds and loose earth, on rich soil and grainy sand, pebbles and twigs, mulch and mud, pavement and dust We roll, tumbling down arching land, fumbling in grit and lush, caught in thistles and thorns, freed in the fragrance of grassy air Teased by floral wafts, eyes

My man, meadows

The sea side is far from here. The meadows sway in their own faint little tunes. This grain matches my mustard color sweater. I like the color of the sun; the way the light reflects across the sky in beams and touches my sweater. If you were to look closely into my eyes, you’d see