Meadowlarks over the lake, half past dawn
Yellows and blues in the horizon, hanging low in the pale cloudless sky
For it is eternally afternoon here, and even the wildflowers know this; they gently droop their fluttering heads, sealing their pistils from the sun's penetrating rays

I sit by the water, capturing that pure scent that's nearly too precious for human lungs, and imagine this moment lingering on like a ripple in the lake, the water capturing the steady beating of my heart.