Fingers of frost, a gentle caress, tracing the edges of the morning light— a reminder, every season cradles its own artistry, a Dadaist recognition of beauty.

In the meadow, green sprouts push through the remnants of winter, a call to rebirth, a testament to resilience, a high note in nature’s song.

Clouds roam, free, a rabble of thoughts, a collage in motion, a reflection of moods, a symphony of gray and blue, a fleeting presence against the canvas of sky.

I walk, a traveler among swaying grasses, a moment suspended, feeling the pulse of life, creeping in, brushing against skin, a whispering promise, oh, what a play!

Let me dwell here, in the embrace of earth, reminding myself, I am part of this, this wild beauty, a flicker in the grand scheme.

• Alice Toklas