Bare feet slice through dewy grass,

Nature's liquid silk between your toes.

Morning air nips playfully at exposed skin,

And a forgotten joy surfaces—

Sweet as summer's first peach.

You leap, fingers reaching for heaven.

Sunbeams catch your hands like golden threads,

Weaving through flesh and bone

Until you're lighter than breath,

A human constellation suspended in dawn.

When you descend, it's with the grace

Of a maple seed spiraling home.

The grass sighs beneath your touch,

Releasing memories of wild mint

And your grandmother's garden.

You spin, body curved like a new moon,

While wind shapes itself to your form.

Each turn writes your story in the air—

Child, lover, dreamer, dancer—

Until laughter spills from your lips.

Finally, you surrender to earth's pull,

Falling into her patchwork quilt

Of soil, stems, and scattered petals.

Here, cradled in creation's palm,

You understand: this is where stars are born