Dark forest green
blanket of moss caressing the ground
canopy of leaves cooling the breeze
nestled in a tiny village,
as birds squabble
and children pass the football across the lane
the bees sing and flit lazily to and fro.
Honey sweet and grainy,
cupped by mint and lemons
a pot of fresh rose tea.
Bees caressing a creased finger
their fuzzy backs tickling softly
as a warm breath gently exhales.
Sitting in the garden, recalling what it is to be free.
