Popsicle sticks writing in hot, sticky tar, on hot streets, on hot summer days.
Sitting on the curb with tanned shoulders bending to the ground by the weight of the sun.
Spider webs sparkling in the morning dew.
Cool, summer streams filling the air with rushing sounds of clear running water.
My dog licking the moisture from my eyes with her sand paper tongue.
Mesmerized by rainbows in water hoses.
Sweet white corn and summer tomatoes.
Skipping to the song of my shoes against the sidewalk.
Sailing through the sky, soaring as if with wings, swinging to the freedom ring of my heart.
Lilacs smelling so sweetly in my room. Lilacs dying with sweet fragrance that I’ll never forget.
Raindrops pounding on the old metal awning in the night.
The smell of broken leaves as I walk.
Embracing cool, crisp, autumn days.
Crickets in the twilight.
The smell of sautéed celery on Thanksgiving morning.
Pictures, paintings and old photos.
The sound of crackling ice beneath my feet.
Sparkling lights dancing off the cold, shimmering ice dripping from the trees.
The smell of fresh pitch seeping from fresh cut Christmas trees.
Christmas tree lights. Sparkle days. “Oh come all ye faithful”.
A soft wind and fragrant, balmy air. Night blooming jasmine.
The fragrance of a Florida grapefruit in Florida.
The first glimpse, the first sound–of the ocean.
A million butterflies hovering over my body flapping their wings.
A light, gentle wind flickering, playfully against my cheek.
The smell of new plastic.
Soft green oceans and purple morning skies in Mexico.
Blue skies in other lands look different.
Black Russian bread, in winter, in Russia.
White paper clouds hanging from Toronto skies.
Fireworks in Waikiki on New Year’s Eve.
The pitter patter sound of dogs walking on linoleum.
Serious talks and drunken dances…Thunder storms in the night.
Till the beat of my heart and the path that I walk become one.
The rose still blooms; even when it’s fallen, it blooms from there.
Prejudice in Cleveland.
Magical walks down ancient tree-lined streets at dawn and dusk.
The making of an angel.
Sweet, sweet success–exhilarating success.
Reaching the top.
Walking in a rainbow.
~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight