An orange petal
Pressed against her face
Dew drops stream down
It is morning
But it feels as if night never came
Eyes shut
Waiting to be opened
Sleep ran away
Fear took it’s place
And the orange petal
Still pressed against her face

A soundly tune
Barely heard from the distance
Ears open
But the mind still closed
The earth cries around her
Tears well up
Too much for the ground to bury
But a man still plays
His silhouette dancing
To his song

A blast of color
Frozen in place
Unable to be seen
As the wind whips
In and around her eyes
An outstretched arm
Flapping, flailing, searching
Undirected
But wind whisks color away

All is calm
Black and white
Finally able to stand
She walks the lonesome halls
Around every tree
Every bush
Nothing moved
Nothing found
It is forever morning