by Sparks In Shadow
My moments have not ended.
I fear, yet carry my loads and arrive.
Flavors line my pockets, fingers exploring as I walk from here to there, choosing.
Red, green and blue greet me, familiar where they lie in all their tones.
Whispers may approach without clarity, but I notice, able to ask.
Waving my hand over paper with sharpened pencil or favored pen,
words appear in the order I set
with a mind agile still, and ready for more to test it in the arts I adore.
These and more, I understand,
often sharing their fruits,