She tilts her head to the side,
A drop falls from above,
And makes the slide.
She rests against the tree and smiles,
A breeze caresses her long, dark hair,
And lifts her face to the skies.
She drums her fingers on her book,
Watches the ants march by,
And gives them a long, pleased look.
She waves her hands around the clouds,
Imagining an entirely different place,
And forgets the noise and crowds.
She presses a flower between her hands,
The petals spring up again,
And she fixes it in her strands.
She moves her hand over the grass and feels,
Picks up a handful of dirt,
And thinks of its hidden meals.
She lies down and laughs,
Intertwines both her hands,
And joins together the two halves.
A gentle sigh blows beneath her skin,
She’s glad it’s time to leave,
And goes fluidly to join her kin.