Wind stirs in expectation; it
softly strokes my face.
The March sun reassures me,
warms pale flesh
through layers of thick sweater
and winter coat.
Under indigo hills
new grass flows,
yellow and green,
as past distant ranges,
to the sky-bright, rounded sea
he flees and sends us
a gift of clouds,
aflame
in glory.
Peace be with the grass of the fields!
Peace
to dark hills and drifting clouds,
and to the sacrificial sun
peace!
poems 
Peace! So needed everywhere, anytime … Lovely writing!
Please feel free to share 1 to 3 poems with our potluck poetry today, first time participants could use old poems or poems unrelated to our theme, Thanks..
Happy Monday!
Love your blog, your poetry is impressive..
keep it up…