Stick 120 - Open Slat Air

the us in scope

my stick lay above the open slat air
delicate in its momentary frightening sense of dispair

my stick survived the winter snow
and now drank summer fresh air from below

my stick spoke of red benches where green hills humbly slope
and translated nuances that soothed the lost as it put the us in scope

my stick heard the sounds of the cow bells resound
and it lifted the spirits as swans curled their gentle necks

my stick now wants to anchor what it has found 
and yearns for more years to build and travel across new love ground