Her eyes are raised heavenward,
exposing sun-kissed brows
as she swings to and fro
carrying the wind in her tresses.
I watch the sunlight filtered through
foliage youthful as her skin weave into
shadow - the checkerboard pattern
of her soul printed on her fair visage.
I watch as the rest of the world flees
from the gray-blue of monsoon.
Yet one upturned face, soft as the
falling rain herself moves
back and forth, back and forth...
She does not look for a stray ray
of warmth while she can still find
contentment in the storm-plagued skies.
And now the wind gathers in her skirts,
as yet she charts the pendulum's course.
Maple leaves, the ginger of her hair,
tossed mercilessly- a great, inexplicable
beauty. No cloak is drawn into which
to shrink; simply eyes wide-opened
To live in rapture, to live in song.
Comforting glows of amber suffuse
homes replete with holiday cheer
as Jack Frost blows over the land.
Snowflakes.Cherry blossom fingers
reach to capture the descending tufts
of white, trusting long enough to
release the frayed ropes of a swing
that has journeyed through the
changing colors of an alien world.
Honorable mention
Silver trophy winner
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