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Frederick Kwesi Great Agboletey
Freshair
Fresh air,
thin
slices of pure air,
as though sharpened on the cutting edge
of some massive ice shelf,
cutting a path through these
pine conifers,
sweeping down these mountain slopes,
reviving every thing in its path-
Fresh mountain air,
singing
in whispery swishing swipes;
life's rhythm,
as it passes through these green forests,
reviving-
These slices
of sharp plangency,
tingling sparks of ice cold air,
points of passing delight,
this sharp freshness-
Freshair,
bearing
reminders,
of mint,
pina colada,
iced drained sugarcane juice,
yellow mangoes,
tang of strawberry,
tangy
tangerines,
sparkling soda in an iced bottle,
hot tropical sun,
sea breeze-
Reminders,
of golden beaches,
green
coconut palms swishing,
the quiet of a tropical midday,
sun twelve o'clock high
shady trees,
islands of canopied
shadow,
protecting from a blazing sun,
all the time with a breeze blowing-
Fresh strong breeze,
blowing away
stale dormancy,
of stagnant calm,
lifitng the stiff calico window blinds,
whispering to the old lace overhang,
till
laughter gushes forth,
and textile dances to nature's rhythm-
Fine layers of fibers swaying,
responsorial ochestration
of nature,
of varying intensity,
in sustained sweeping motion,
seeming uniformity of varied composition,
fine
strands of terpsichorial delight,
merged in one mighty harmonious composition,
freshair blowing renewal in its wake
each
strand undefinable,
albeit a fine point that defines the whole-
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