G I N G E R T E A
I sit.
My hands around my cup of tea,
smelling the ginger wafting to me.
I gaze.
I gaze up into the sky.
Counting moths that flutter by.
I listen,
I listen to the sound of a soft wind,
barely making a noise as it touches my skin.
I feel.
I feel my hair brush across my cheek.
A gift from my father, so very unique.
I sigh,
I sigh, and snuggle up in my blankets of fleece.
I am finally at peace.