See in one’s mind an empty canvas,

With deft strokes, present with color

A mélange of titian and ochre

And with your eyes, trace slowly

Lines of brown amongst the cherries

Petal by petal, into the wind

The familiar road, now dusted copper

Brought on by the golden zephyr

‘tis what I see, nothing else matters

Walk the path with the wind at your back

And let the dancing leaves enchant

The canvas once blank, never the same again.