When I would curse or cry or shout,
I take a walk to vent it out:
To tread alone among the trees,
Feel warmed by sunlight, cooled by breeze.
Soothed by every fall of feet,
A gentle metronomic beat.
Thus as I pace the air smells clear,
Whatever season of the year.
Summer with pure azure vault,
Melts away self-loathing fault.
Autumn in its hazy light
softens rage and restores sight.
Winter fuels creative mind:
Leaves anxious hindrance far behind.
Spring in steps propels the soul,
Making fractured self feel whole.
©Tom Tide 2017