It's the light that passes through the hanging sheets in the summer warmth.
It's the silence of the water in the bath tub, just underneath your still fingertips.
It's the pigment of autumns brown leaves, crunching underneath your feet.
It's the spectrum of light coming through the windows and onto the floors, early in the morning.
It's the absolute notion of carelessness in this world.
It's childhood. |
Submission Name: From the Ground to the Cliff
