On Serenity

If I were asked to represent the word "serene," I would roll out the grass around me and litter it with the daisies and buttercups that surround me. I would carve out that nearly-uprooted tree that somehow, even horizontal, still grows leaves beside me. I would pour the hazel water into the pond in front of me and I would cage it in with long, soft cattails, just as nature has. I would beam down like the sun in his sapphire sky, and I would whisper, like the gentle breeze, through the trees and flowers and grass and whatever else would listen, and it would be your name on my lips.