The Swing

As a slight purple haze covers
the pale blue sky
on the dreamiest of days.
Colors vivid. Everything in bloom.
“The perfect painting,” some might say.
But not a soul in view.
A slight rain coming down over me
as I swing among the tree behind my house.
Quiet whispers of the woods
as the wind blows softly about.
A feeling of one within myself
surrounds my being and
a perceived sight of me from without.
As I bow my head smiling as I swing
alone just before the dark is quite out.
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