If I were a poet.....
I would write of the sweet smell of honeysuckle growing on the winding vines that climb the trellis.
Their smell brought to me on a warm gentle breeze that first makes its way as a whisper through the trees, then kisses the wind chime to elicit a soft note.
I would write of the way the wind starts as a low far off rumble, then rises and break into a whoosh just as I feel it cross my face.
I would write of the sharp sting of an ant's pincers as it surprises my unsuspecting foot.
I would write of the reach of the trees limbs as they stretch their long fingers across the crooked brick patio towards the edge of the fence in search of the sun's fading rays.
I would write of the girl perched hidden against the wall on a winkled beach towel smelling the world around her in search of a message, a meaning.
Words like nectar to fill in the outlines of life and invite the mystery that lies dormant for all to see.