Affluence. Across the meadow there grows a proud oak listing quietly, she watches over summer children singing softly a chorus of colourful feathers and cicada calls. Across the meadow where lilacs dance to rhythms of noon shade, pouring na´ve abundance into every shadow, small hands fold black-eyed Susans for a royal gown. In counterpoint with the rising song dangling from the branches, lightly slipping from leaves to sky and back again, a playful voice rhymes the passing call of a wood thrush. Across the meadow where on crossed legs a child rests, and lifts her heart, to the restless breathing of earth and heaven, blue eyes dance under golden curls, these simple rites of love. So into sunshine she sings her polyphony breaking a cappella solitude by the abundance of a meadowlark's orchestration. The old oak loves her child, as just a proud oak can. And back again so loves this child, catching a whisper's thought that by the sway of these branches in metronome comfort, she finds a mother's smile without regret or pause. A meadow knows what we may only dream, that here is true happiness, as could neither be seen nor bought, but dwells somewhere across the sweet grass in a child's heart and her tree.