I am made of wild nectar flowing through the fine veins of nature’s blossoms, of thin stings of honeybees, of the blithe twittering of bluebirds.

I am made of the glass and steel of skyscrapers lifting themselves up high above the city, of the pliant cushion of subway seats, of sunlight’s mirror image on glistening street cars.

I am made of the innocent laughter of children happily sitting on the swings, of hugs of loving mothers; of sunny afternoons spent with friends and family.

I am made of the soft sound of the Ocean caressing wild rocks soothingly, of damp green grass tickling my feet, of wild rivers and gentle streams.

I am made of good-night-stories fathers tell their children, of fairytales of elapsed times, of the points of lousy jokes.

I am made of the tender kisses of the wind on my face, of raindrops dying on the warm asphalt, of sunshine’s fingers’ tranquil touch.

I am made of the sludgy brown earth I walk on, of soft beige sand arching beneath the traces I leave, of hard, adamant stone ways.

I am made of the world- and the world is made of me.