There must be something
upon the hill,
when crescent whispers to shadows,
trees stretch each tip,
and owls halt on the branches.

There must be something
in the breeze,
when misty May breathes fragrance,
windows half open,
and sunrays shed golden pattern.

There must be something
on the beach,
when sunset kisses the skyline,
waves twist with bubbles,
and sand embraces our footprints.

There must be something
beneath the snow,
when quiescence dominates mountains,
squirrels clutch pinecones,
and I watch you from a distance.