Perhaps the gentle breeze,
a zephyr, carrying the smell of wood smoke
on a winter'��s morn. The whisper of tyres on a distant road.

Could I be the blush of dawn,
bringing the light.
The rush of melt water tumbling down a mountain stream.

The great blue sky,
echoing with the greeting cries of aerial hunters;
gladdening your ears, smiling your lips, lighting your eyes.

Maybe that distant,
Indistinct figure who raises a friendly hand
as we, Ploughing our lonely furrow, pass like ships at sea.

A taste of red,
enjoyed while being fascinated by mesmeric dancing
flames of a log fire, in a Grande Maison. Ah, "��La belle..."��

I may not be,
any of these things, but joining you in a
conspiratorial feeling of oneness, "��This is who I would be."��