The Most

sometimes

the most magical

things happen

alone

on an

end of the day

walk

by the stream

flush with rushing water

after a week of rain

a strange out of place

goldfish swimming

through clouds

through sky reflecting

in a curling pool surrounded

by ancient stones

along the way

nameless flowers

that you pick

for your favorite vase

the quiet memory

of eyes of a smile  

of a special face

the sense of being held

when no one is there

night unfolding

with its chorus

of faraway sounds

and the touch

gentle touch

of the breeze

at your back

caressing your

shoulders your neck

as you amble on

this new path home