| By Lauren Taglienti |
I know neither what love is
Nor happiness,
But I know for certain
That seldom do I feel more alive
Than when I walk through untrodden snow
Or look up to branches, sky
Or down into pages of a book.
Overcome the chill to warmth,
Trace the wise veins of the bark with my fingers,
Watch the bird in the distance conquer the vast blue,
Dissect Dickinson’s observations:
Surely then can I not hide a smile.
Photo by Ylanite Koppens from Pexels
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