I gaze outwards, hoping to eye the secret source of my amazement...
Such a subtle notion to be keenly aware of my concentration whispering soft to me like wonder washing over the clear eyes of a child.
Standing in the midst of a wild garden, lost in thoughts and knee-high daffodils rising to the occasion, pacing the breeze in celebration of concentric release and liberation.
The tone of my attention flows outwards drifting in the vortical tumble of wisping moments and spiral smiles only a kissing kind of nature could spin so effortlessly across the dusky horizon’s curving finesse.
Propelled into the Painter’s portrait of stars swept canvas sweeping over my vision with the image of the wonder-washed child standing in a garden, gazing outwards from the picture quietly searching for the secret source of her amazement… ..and I wonder if she sees me gazing back at her?