Wind whips my hair,
the sun is out,
and I am happy.
It isn’t so cold out.
The page flaps against my hand.
I stare at the leaves by my feet.
The heat of the sun warms me.
I am at peace.
The wind rushes up my back to blow my lose strands of hair in my face,
but it doesn’t bother me.
Nor does it stop my perfect view or writing.
I look up as a bird flies by and I stare at the clouds.
I close my eyes in the direction of the sun and smile.