"O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away."

-- Robert Frost

I was reminded of this poem when I took my walk in the park the other day.  It is funny all the bits of poetry, we pick up along the leaf-littered paths of life.

A verse here, and another there, surprising our distracted thoughts, like a bright dandelion half-hidden in the grass.

Beautiful words are soothing to my heart.  And, putting beautiful words together, is a childhood game which has never grown old.  It is like the satisfying feeling that comes when clicking the very last piece of a puzzle into place. The words have now formed a picture which did not exist the moment before.  

Writing captures moments of time, but not just any moments.  The moments we, individually choose.  How neat is that?  :)

Have a beautiful day!

Delisa