When I walk alone

From within the shelter of the sky my wandering eye will often find the treasures that have been left behind by others who once wandered by.

In my silent hide and seek I find myself, in the quiet, speak to all the little bits of world that find their peace in simply being.

They listen well, ever patient in my rambling, never minding my senses and nonsenses and maniacal mental meanderings.  Until, at last, my thoughts are spent.

And this gentle world cradles me close.  In its solace I find strange comfort in being small, and knowing my small place in all that Is and will ever Be.

And I will not waste tears on puddles of milk.