What Were Their Shapes?

megb42290 Poems

It was a Saturday morning. My eyes, they fluttered, lashes grazing against the top of my lids, pitter, patter, flutter, am I awake yet? Hours spent drifting in, drifting out somewhere I slipped, swiftly, floating in between sweet, delicious dreams and soft, serene reality. The universe opened wide just beyond the unlatched windows. The wind whispered to me as it slowly blew by the quilted drapes. "The universe is yours," it whispered. Awake, rising, how I was aware, senses heightened by the morning air, or was it afternoon? No matter. Grogginess faded as my eyes focused on the whimsical, soft shapes that shifted, turned, dissolved, bloated and withered, the clouds spoke to me, creating a slow, two-step harmony in my soul. Sunlight faint, that early afternoon light the kind that makes everything beautiful, and poetic, even the 3, oh wait, there's 4, flies buzzing, circling round and round the overhead light were they dancing? playing a tune? The sunlight made it so. 'Twas all a chord, a line from a song, a poem, a simple moment in a complicated world, and all I felt, smelled, heard, saw, tasted; I am alive.