I burn
the fragrant wood of palo santo,
clearing,
purifying,
healing.
The burnt black tip
transforms to white ash.
The process of burning
is always slow.
Even in the face of wind,
fire
takes its time.
I wait
and watch
in patience,
as the red hot ember
subsides,
and white ash
remains.
Through the open window
a gentle gust of wind
rushes in.
Desiring
to end the process.
The pure white ash
break
into motes of dust.
They scatter
melt,
dissolve.
Into the blue
blue sky.
Some
remain on the desk.
White speckles in the present
of what was in the past.
Fantastic
Conveys the feelings to the reader
Great to see
This is a beautiful piece. My daughter will be helped in her English and will get tuned to the finer points of life….
Beautiful. Thank you, Ashley