I am light, steeping on rocks
without any weight.
I fell straighten upwards
my chest, everything holds.

You are bright, purple flower of the forest.

Yonder in green contrast
close in sweet honey.
Dew show our forms,
secretive after pouring.

We too, belong to the wind.

25/10/2020 written when alone in the forest, hearing Miel's singing in the wind.