Alive --

Stung by leaves and wounded by sticks,

my

feet weary from the walk,

I breathe,

understanding

little but walking, little

but the

sway

of the arms

and the

bend of the knees . . . I

whisper

in the wind

a quiet word, a

cautious prayer, the

light

reflects

and

surrenders, a

shadow

falls

across the road . . . I

hear

the birds,

I touch the

air,

I am Alive . . .

*