Dust

It's sunny
clear, with wind
less, more like a breeze
warm on my smile
all on my skin
covered and not
as I walk
beside the street.
Humming to me
feel the sun
people seeing my smile
and smiling themselves.
Old man selling
sweet bunches of
what I think
might be
just wildflowers.
I smile.
He smiles
thinks
(I can almost hear)
"She must be happy.
Very happy."
When I reach
my home
I sigh in warm
winter sunshine
and watch the
dust rise
and fall
and dance
like fireflies
in my home.