In this I see love

In this I see love

Bare feet upon the warm wet dew of spring as the rays of the sun creep above the horizon and play with the sweet smell of snowdrops. An innocent warming breeze that touches young faces who share the empathy of the rising sun. Fragile white and pink blossom flurries play upon the breeze in an orchard of blossom that has replaced the cold melting flakes of snow. Bird song that fills the sky in celebration of another day, another year, another Spring and the warmth it brings.

In this I see love, in this I see you.

A summers day, a summer heat, a summer sun and fields, woods, forests and rivers with abundant life. Laying in the hay of a summer’s day in the heat of the sun while everything feels so alive, trees all green and laden with fruit, air filled with bird song, the ground full of the clickety click of crickets. Leaves carried on the cooling breeze and into the tumbling river that cascades downhill, the water smelling so pure, fresh and alive.

In this I see love, in this I see you.

Sitting atop white cliffs overlooking the sea and the vastness of a beach as the sun shines down. Rolling waves carry the white surf upon them with children running and playing in the tide, the air so full of their laughter and screams of delight. Seagulls swoop and call out amongst the cliffs and rocks as if locked in a world before people.

In this I see love, in this I see you.

Walking through a woodland amongst the orange, brown and red colours of autumn. The mushrooms and toadstools flourish amongst the fallen leaves. More leaves fall from the trees as if the trees have grown sad and tired and now long for renewal. The year is growing older now and the wind in the air is chill. The smell is now one of decay but the smell of woodland decay is so sweet.

In this I see love, in this I see you.

Looking from a window at the falling snow while sitting by a warm log fire, the wood crackling as it burns with the incandescent orange flames licking the chimney. So warm and so cosy by the fire as outside the icicles form from the gutters of a shed, and ever more snow falls, onto the quiet virgin snow. The year is old as winter shows its hand and some who are old feel old too, a life more full of memories than future but oh what memories they are.

In this I see love, in this I see you.

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