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What does the delicacy of a flower ask of us?
Fragrance hearted progeny to summer.
Does it make us kinder, gentler people to treasure them?
Each, an elegace unlaced from winter branches.
Sometimes I wish we could all exist this gently every day,
to break beyond the exterior bark, open and comfortable with our own beauty
to let the unexpected in-- the rain or the exceptional bee
mingling inward to collect the inner pollen, leaving some from across the field...
even if only to wither, exhausted at the end of day (every day),
to fall into sleep, to dream and again the next day, wake to open
white and wide again. Available.
Maybe we do, when all is perfectly aligned within. Maybe
my eyes have grown scales and I can't see anymore.
*
I walked in the woods, my mind full of words (so many people talking indoors).
I tried to see the smallest things. I tried to step slowly, the way
my father taught me as a child, to pretend as if an Indian in hand stitched
mocassins on the pine needle floor, the earth's floor, the wind swept and tended
house; outdoors. To honor the silence there, the way he did, so the silence
would open for me. (Yes I think silence opens up). I willed
to take the silence into me, like ripe berries (silence is always ripe)
to savor it all, or to share with you. But it flees.
Here, back in the city, everything everywhere vibrates
with the traffic of commerce and ideas. Logics
have their own vibrations, and follow us everywhere.
I look in my pocket, my memory, silence teasing me.
*
All day I have something. Was it something I ate, didn't eat? Something I
drank or didn't drink; something I said, or didn't say; someone I kissed
or hugged, or who kissed or hugged me--too much of too much
gave me something... ooofff.... have been trying to shake it off all day
Peace, and Happy Easter to all. It was a wonderful weekend.
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