Waltz with the Breezes

When I left to take a walk Saturday, 

the air was hot and muggy,

relieved by the gift of a breeze. 

As the afternoon went on, the promise 

of rain plied its way among the trees 

at the IMS RV lot on Georgetown Road. 

I could hear the trees as they danced, 

their leaves sounding like the rustle of taffeta

ball gowns moving to the sensuous twirls and dips 

of the breeze's three-quarter time.

A bit of the breeze touched my cheek, 

inviting me to join the dance.

And there, I could be seen, a middle-aged woman 

walking alone among a few acres worth of trees. 

With my baseball hat pulled low on my brow,

I looked up at the trees where, circling in place,

partnered by my unseen Muse, my laughter made 

a counter melody to the summer air.