I am a poet.
Peace engulfs me.
Fresh air surrounds me.
Friendly creatures visit me,
and tell me of their paths.
Love, joy, and an array of colors and textures lie neatly folded in the top drawer.
Where I live,
the birds talk and the wind chants.
The grass tells tales.
Books are alive and some of their characters are real.
The sunlight can dance
Music is the same thing as color,
and movement and sound.
Everything here is the alive.
And they all confess.
They all bow to the same God.
and silently, I pray with them.
I was looking into the shed, at the same place where I always look.
But something new happened!
A bird from a book came out of the pages and sat on the bookshelf top.
It flapped its wings.
It flew up to the top of the room, tapped its peak on the glass panel,
And dropped back down to where I was looking.
It buried itself under some clothes,
and going after it,
I found a space bigger than I had thought.
I followed it and found a door.
I opened the door and found a garden.
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