Wooed by a Breeze

Spring is my lover, and the breeze my beau. The quiet of spring and the newly-sprung flowers all call softly to me of sweet old memories gone by. Their sweetness- their love. The laughter and the friends all come back to me now. With each ebb of the breeze another sweet melody washes over me. Days full of light and joy- dreams come true and endless possibilities bloom. No fears, no strings, no baggage to claim or to carry. Blue skies, yellow roses, faded. The sweet scent of mountain air awakening from a cold, hard winter. So many mistakes I've made since then- so many paths I've crossed and recrossed in my mind. Faces burned and branded into my memory. No more lazy days; no more young innocence. All that is left to remind me of those days is a sweet, gentle breeze through the open window. Curling my hair around its finger, grazing my cheek with its hand, brushing my lips with a kiss.