Poetry – The Quiet Bloom

A simple breeze brushes against my face,
and my heart skips as I realize spring is here.
The sun rests gently on my skin,
shining brighter than it has in a long time.
I see children running around with freezies,
laughter scattered in the air.

It feels rare….almost too rare,
in this generation, in this town.
As I look from side to side,
clouds drift slowly above me,
while cars rush endlessly below.
And yet, I’m still happy I stepped outside.

Just to let the wind take over.
Just to calm my mind.
I sit on the rough grass,
thinking about letting go…
the stress, the headaches,
a season that has already passed.
A stronger breeze hits my face.
I close my eyes.
I take a deep breath.
And for a moment, I just appreciate the day.

On my way back inside,
I pause near the entrance.
A small boy smiles beside his mother,
then skips away after saying “thank you.”
And in that moment, I think
maybe there’s still hope.
Maybe even now,
people can still appreciate

the simple, quiet beauty of a day like this. 🙂

What do I find?
What can I find
through the hills and holes of the underground?
A brisk wind travels through the train windows
as the rush of the tracks moves us forward.

I sit and stare.
A tired mind listens to the constant entrances and exits.
Echoes of movement follow the train as it speeds
toward everyone’s different destinations.
Slow, steady steps lead upward—
an automated climb back to the street.

Some arrive late.
Some arrive right on time.
Some step off exactly when they need to.
People rest.
People rush.
People stare at their phones.

Another step outside.
Wind against my face.
I reach my destination:
bouncing elevators,
broken mailboxes,
the same yellow and brown hallway.
The familiar clutter.
The low evening quiet.

But somewhere in the middle of all of this,
I practice patience.
Each ride home
is another chance
to become a little better
than I was before.