Fleeting

Untethered and wistful. the soul is not always fully grounded. The footing is so appealing down there. Cushions of moss and sunlight. rivers throw diamonds and sapphires as they babble. Buds of soft colors peek through layers of desiccation. indecisive. Just a brief touch down to reality and the soul turns somber. Murky and cold. Eyes like glass everywhere. sometimes we make mistakes coming back. the buds open and they wither just the same. yearning. fingertips alighting on a thin veil of mist. so close. flowers must grow. an end is an end, but the journey justifies the reward.