Monday, 4 April 2011

The sound of Flowers...

The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. ~Basho


Gifts from her hands,
Record fragments of the afternoon sun,
Wildflower seeds
Surf eternal breath.

The scent of pollen lingers like a memory upon my windowsill.

They'd fallen amongst last years weeds,
Growing through layers of silence,
Beneath log piles, and fallen trees.
She'd cleared a way,

Through moss and mulch,
Her fearless eyes darting
Like a fish in cold water.
Glancing for shadows.

Glimmering shards of sea glass,
Diamonds formed in wombs of glacial rock,
Buried treasures,
A world never notices.

She finds them gold,
Garnet, green.
Cups them like a newborn,
Brings them to me.


  • A posie of flowers from a little girls who sees the sacred scattered in the most unlikely places.
  • Being and having "Enough"
  • Considering the lilies
  • Writing and recieving letters
  • Boo whistling
  • Blue sky, children's squeals


  1. oh love this. love. there's so much in those flowers, found by young loves. i have cups full all over my house... prized possessions.

  2. Completely beautiful! What a lovely place you have here.

  3. Just so beautiful!!!! You said it all and I'm just sighing with the beauty of it. Thank yo for that. The picture is sooo sweet! There's just something about a fist full of wildflowers that grabs your heart. Thank you for that! It was such a blessing to be here today. I go away with a full heart!


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