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.