It was there. Through darkened woods, in shadowed branches.
It laid there. Almost forgotten, left lamented as any regret would be.
As lingering as any ghost would be to its memory.
It could be laughter echoing. It could be a snapshot of sand and tide. It could be ripples across a lake. The splash of water across a face. That cold drink upon a thirty throat.
It could only be sun. Longer days. So much light.
So much fun.