The enemy of green hides between

Venice Beach and the Alps.

Squeezed between the upscale boutiques and climbing pit stops.

At the edge of silver

is the stench of exhaust being blown out by the semi truck in front of you.

Louder than a gopher's scream.

The antonym of pink

is the rainforest, trees reaching for the sky.

The natives with their freshly built huts.

White moves

in a whimsical dance, like a damsel finally set free.

Graceful and new.

The texture of turquoise feels
like silk sheets against my body on a cool morning.

Crisp air filling my lungs

And at the top of tomorrow waits

a bright yellow light inviting you to join.