A Transcendentalist's Morning

The sun beats down and heats the parking lot asphalt
On a sunny California day,
That makes the sky itself sweat.

Despite the sun, the crisp morning air nips at my nose,
And I pull my jacket strings taut.
I squint as the sun greets my smile.

Lost in thought I cross the lot,
And something catches my eye.
I almost missed it—

—Most did.

Bursting at the seams I run,
I run across the lot,
Away, away from my mundane thoughts!

It's beautiful.
Something I've only heard of.
Something I've only dreamed of.

As intricate as lace,
And sticking every which way—
It reminds me of a delicate spider web.

Others mock and jest,
"What is so significant
About the simple dust beneath our feet?"

I disregard their taunts,
For I am amazed
At the sight of my first

Tumbleweed.
8

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