Breathe into a red balloon, how it grows. Release your grip and watch it go.

Breathe out in the bitter cold, see it rise. Watch it vanish before your eyes.

Breathe on a window pane, fog your view. Trace a heart and wipe it through.


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As the light of day begins to rise, the earth revolves and the eagle cries.
A smoke like mist over field and river, as if to a time of bow and quiver.
Dew of the morning drips down off the thistle, and a glow on the trees mark of nights reluctant dismissal.
The higher the sun the brighter the forest, the birds in their perches sing a welcoming chorus...


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