… we're made so that we love
First when we see them painted, things we have passed
Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see;
And so they are better, painted -- better to us,
Which is the same thing. Art was given for that …
--- Robert Browning “Fra Lippo Lippi”

Summer in Georgia is green, but I make it greener,
Verdent and vivid and wild, when viewed through the lens of a poem.
The air is visible, a curtain draping heavily to the ground.
The wind swells it, like ripples running through liquid,
Thick enough to touch, corporeal enough to clasp in my hand.
The smell of honeysuckle on the breeze is more than sweet,
It's a scent with memory, the echo of seasons of twining growth.
A day spent wading in the current of evolving words
Is a magnifying glass, and looking through constantly composing eyes,
I smell, touch, taste, live in brighter sunlight.