A rushin’ brook;

overlooks a vast array on hindsight . . .

The tall pines,

chipped an’ frayed,

squirrels knock cones from the canopy;

bombs away!

I walk amidst the dogwood trees;

indigenous scenery such that is …

southern comfort.

I contemplate my own simplistic sway,

and life awakes within me.

White flowers bloom from pale white trees

which first appear …

ugly …

beaten and old;

but my flow was broke . . .

obtain a copacetic gain,

alike the fresh feeling of morning dew;

press against my soles,

I am renewed.

~Ryan Jacobs

27th of March 2011