This is an acrostic that begins with the first sentence beginning with the letter Z and continues in chronological order, ending at A. 

I Rise

Zooming across the bridge, I rise, almost become entangled in the overhead girders, but manage to level off. Yellow ribbons spiral in my wake. Xanthic vibes radiate out behind from the speed at which I make my escape. 

When have I ever had a chance like this? 

Very soon I will be free of this bridge too, and its entangling cross pieces overhead. Usually his hand controlled my every move, curtailed my bids for freedom. This opportunity had arisen suddenly, so suddenly he was powerless to stop my flight.
Sky, clouds, the moon, stars ¾ there will be no end. Racing toward the final girder, I miscalculate and am stopped so suddenly my tail shoots past me. Quashing my disappointment, I thrash and twist, struggling for freedom. 

Please, wind, yank me away. Only you can save me now. Never before have I needed you more. 

My plea is answered!  Leaving earth-bound creatures, soaring to freedom, I salute my friend, the current of air that has set me free. Kin to the wind, brethren to breezes, my soul soars aloft. Jealous of birds no more, I weave, spiral, dip and dive. I am free. Heaven beckons me onward, upward and no one can hold me back. Gentle breezes threaten to ground me, as I twitch and turn, searching for an updraft. Finally, a zephyr becomes a gust as I spread my tips and rise again. Earth, you have no hold on me. Divine peace is mine as I rise, I rise, I rise. 

Certain of my freedom, I dare to dream of sights unseen, adventures awaiting. Behold the vast and open sky, my home forevermore. Anchored no longer by a human hand holding my string, I rise.

The Grass is Still Green          Linda Ducharme  Oct 9/19

Birds fatten – fluffed-up feathers,
trees display flower-like foliage.
Sun dares to throw heat rays
As North Wind claims victory,
But…the grass is still green.

Dawn’s warm hues herald new day’s
orange, peachy pink promises.
Venture outside – hasten back
For insulated jacket and gloves
though the grass is still green.

Water-logged fields hold harvest at bay.
Squash leaves, brittle, brown, bent and dry.
Stubborn beet leaves stand erect
stoutly supported by thick purple tubers,
And the grass is still green.

O Summer, where have you gone?
Why have you vanished so soon?
We weren’t yet finished our fun and games
swimming, beach parties, barbeques
while the grass is still green.

Blankets, cold and white will soon appear
covering all summer souvenirs,
putting to rest warm days of our youth,
hiding treasures – hot days, warm evenings and sun
while the grass was still green.

Our hair turns white, like wintry snow,
feeble limbs falter and fail,
but memories hold dear, thoughts of our dawn
as we grasp at the straws of our youth.
And surely, our grass is still green.

 May Morning, Manitoba

Breaking free of horizon
sun highlights dry maple seeds –
a thousand golden fairy lights
dangle from broken branch.

White throated sparrow trills
Oh, sweet Canada, Canada, Canada.
Bouquet of robins
bobs across saturated lawn.

High on power line 

lone purple martin hunches –
dispirited monk
awaiting delayed insect feast. 

Cotton-ball clouds,
turquoise sky
promise glorious
Manitoba spring day.