Monday, 4 April 2011

The sound of Flowers...

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

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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.

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  • 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


3 comments:

  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.

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

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  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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