Midstream

When we were just air in the ether,
Everything was possible;
Each happenstance
Was ALWAYS an opportunity.
Our eyes swallowed everything, 
Fattening with the sights;
It was all so delicious and beautiful—
Ugly had yet to be learned.

We were anywhere and everywhere—
No sail could catch us.
We blew playfully through the leaves,
Making music (mischief).
We also blew out candles.

Every flurry around the campfire, though,
Our fluttery shapes were slowly kneaded
To a taper by rigid hands.
Our spiraling, wind-kissed meadows
Became straight paths.
All but one or two colors, somehow,
Disappeared from our rainbows.
We were left with:
Options instead of opportunity;
A muted palette;
D
I
R
E
C
T
I
O
N.

We were all squalls— We lost momentum—
And now we look to breezy days.

Sweet smells and quiet music
Waft from behind— familiar—
Wrapping around us
Like soft, grandmother-hugs.

Our sunsets will be painted
With those lost colors.