Bounding Across the Fields

Bounding across the fields, light fills her hair, dew on her socks, the birds comment. How can it be so full? Even when all is yet unknown? Is it because she already hears the morning? Is it because her eyes already laugh? How does she know there will be a song waiting for her on the other side? Of captivating stalks, where amidst them, the small blossoms grow? And, if she listens well, where love will last and sing above the wind that blows?