it's right underneath,

brewing under my chest

this quiet whisper circling-

not spiraling downwards as 

i often tend to, but in a way a

gentle breeze swirls a handful

of leaves and they flutter away.

there's an inquisitive nature 

to it where there is somehow a

sense of magic at hand, and yet

somehow there must be a reason

to it all. a scientific process that 

always begets the same results after

following a specific pattern of events.

the snow will always melt with the touch

of warm air. the birdsong will always 

bring a sense of relief for the return of

Spring. and the lovebirds will rejoice

after surviving the long winter, nuzzling up

to the love that kept them warm.