truth

With the sun kissing her back

Ever so slightly,

And the wind caressing the soft swirls and twirls

Of golden strands,

Her eyes shine off a moonlit twinkle.

The combination of:

Tiptoes

Hops

Leaps

Across hot-lava pressed rocks,

Or into knee-high, new baby-born grass,

Avoiding the occasional sharp stings and bites,

Above the tender, warm soil.

She stares ahead

Opening her eyes to find she is there.

Slowly dipping her toes beneath the refreshing flow,

She soaks in the passion—the embrace—the beauty

Of a cold stream on the hot, summer day.