A Picture

the air ripples my hair, sending clumps over my shoulder
leaves scatter as I shuffle by
a flurry of red, like a dying fire breathing its last breath
the grass is green
but not for long. pieces of gold crackle in the wind, under my feet
the tip of my nose is pink
from the coolness of the afternoon
and the many tissues that irritate it
the sky is a blue so brilliant
that sapphires everywhere
are put to shame