The spongy velvet of moss,
that cool carpet beneath the trees.

The tickle of the grass
drawn between my toes
with every step.

The bracing slam
of foaming sea.
The grit of sand
that lingers all day
until it covers
the sheets on my bed.

Dancing around the bumblebees
while they harvest the blooming clover.

The vibrant heat
of sun-baked soil.
The living energy
of fresh-tilled earth.

The splash of fresh puddles
and the joyous squish
of mud between my toes.

All these enjoyments end
when the fall leaves crunch
beneath booted feet
and frosty grass crackles
with every step.

I’ve grown too old
to skip through the snow
in bare feet.

R. Jean Bell
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