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Instead
by Debbie Cannatella 1/3/2004
If my paintbrush were capable of
touching the sky
I would sweep it across the horizon
and paint salmon-rose clouds
against a favorite blue backdrop.
The sun's intense passion would show
in shades of red-orange
mirroring my own love of life
and slowly lower itself behind the trees
as if testing the steaming waters
of a newly drawn bath.
I'd give you the gift of sky color.
Were I able to capture the smell before a storm
I would offer it for you to breathe deeply.
The darkened pregnant clouds would drift
as if dragons protect the skies
while their ground shadows below
cool the heat of the day for those in their path.
The steady rhythmic rain-drumming
would complete the renewal,
a welcomed setting for a back porch rocker
and a book of introspection.
I'd give you the gift of cleansing earth waters
and lazy afternoons.
Would that I merely raise my arms to the sky
and wind would softly brush my skin at my desire
I'd have it rustle through branches
of the great trees of the forests -
the aspens quaking with patterns
of silver-green, silver-green, silver-green
or the slender sweeping fingers of the bald cypress
telling delicate hand stories to its children.
I'd have the wind carry autumn leaves
gently rocking in slow arcs
as they fall to the blanketed earth.
Layers of breezes to stroke your skin,
a whispered quiet of forest sounds
to surround a large hammock in the midst.
I would gift you with the soft breath of the One.
Instead I leave behind mere memories
of a life lived in color,
lived with passion,
lived intensely
And I leave behind these thoughts:
Paint the sky – touch it with your color.
Breathe the rain and dance to its steady drumming.
Close your eyes against the wind and know that I reach for you.
Sit with the trees and listen to them talk to one another.
I will whisper along side them.
Can you hear me?
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