A Warm Lipped Westerly

I am madly alive today, one has to get mad not to be dead. I wander out, wending through myself allowing the warm west wind kiss the thin ice of a low mood. Smiles light up my gladding blood, clouds scud. I take the bright light in the field rabbits' eyes, to set fire to my own sight. I must give praise to whatever, I see it threading my reality through this warm breath of infinity, both I and it are madly in love with every crazy-hearted lover. This boisterous day the Westerlies do blow, and the Spring air leaps as sprightly as a young girl running over a sweetly waving meadow - and by god - I am mad to be that green grass beneath her!