I long to walk a barefoot path again,
in the soft summer sand of a childhood creek.
I long to move silently on wet autumn leaves,
to drift in the earth tones after rain,
...
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Thanks Lyn, glad you liked it. The image is the actual creek where I played as a child.
Reading this poem here you understand that it is the words and the icons they bring into surface which enable us to live that life we live.Without this art how would life be?