Few things do I find more peaceful than the golden hours I make and spend with non-people in those euphoric moments I string together between the shadows, sitting among the bees in neither garden nor bramble, a weedy yard as proxy for the meadow I have yet to discover as my special place to feel home.
In the meantime, longer still, will I spend unweaving the web to the portal.
I watch in comforting company each peculiar movement of a single honey bee again in the perfect light, so celestial.
I bet he’s seen my meadow.
I strain to hear the whispers, the clues, as I always do, and add them to my map home.
I take into my essence the message of a single bee teetering on the webbed edge of the dark and deep, and I remember, too late or in perfect timing, that I also have and always have had wings.
Perhaps this whole map thing is what deceives, keeps us stagnant with the planning when we simply need to faithfully begin the journey, all of it too fleeting to waste another moment not believing we can achieve right now our dreams.
We are never truly defeated, jilted, ill-fated, except by ourselves when we lie down too long where we don’t belong, succumbing to the sunset song of the poppies when the field of sunny, new-day daisies is just up ahead.
I never heard a buzz from that bee. Funny how later and always, I will remember the way it pollinated these dreams.
Another fallen blossom… like the ones before in years passed I photographed and told stories for.
Each of these moves me in such profound ways; what’s underfoot, what others pass, stops me in my tracks with the silent beauty so profoundly displayed.
For a lifetime, I feel I could sit and contemplate, reflect on all the lessons and secrets it portrays…
This is how I know I’m different, for off the beaten path, tucked away, alone in nature is my happiest place.
The soft morning light haloing the fallen lady bids me pay respect and paint legacy allegories.
Not as sad as the last one I payed homage to, (but of course that is influenced by my inner untappable currents and current surface mood, no doubt, in turn, affected by the recent tides and moon…) this fallen beauty, still so poised, fills me with bittersweet truths,
for we, the best things, this life itself… all fleeting, all blossoms plucked by breezes in the grand scheme of it all, these hundred years if we are lucky (but who’s to say that’s luck when we know not what’s next and beyond; perhaps those taken early were needed for something else, angels only visiting to help us with ourselves…) nothing at all, a blink in time, though insignificant nor the center of the universe should we feel; we are each dearly loved, part of the same mother tree unseen but a morph of every variety, the keeper of every seed and leaf releasing us one by one into the world upon the breezes in perfectly timed seasons to root ourselves until it’s our time and we are called back again like this beautiful blossom having just detached. I always wonder if it’s a leap of faith or sacrifice or circumstance.
In any event, who could not ponder the rest of their life happening upon
In the texture of petals, in the lifelines and veins, I silently read the private stories in the evaporating, evanescent after-rain.
In the ones with the audacity to rise and bloom where they please, defying borders and surviving pesticides, I feel myself for the first time breathe.
In the tiniest, overlooked complexities, I scrutinize worlds within, chosen and privy to the revealing of the fantastical magic kingdoms.
In the golden-light when the first or last rays highlight the most delicate paired buds in their mutual vulnerable opening, I feel the blessing from the heavens upon the greatest of humble love stories unfolding.
In the darkest of thickets, surrounded by thorns, I witness the miracles of mysticism when the beacon checks in on the meekest first faithfully after every storm.
Walk the manmade paths through the planted gardens: I will always be watching my step, one with them, in the uncharted, shifting lands of wildflowers.
Give me cloudy days! Fill the skies with grandiose displays, billows of magnificence, those ever-shifting shapes!
No sunrise will I miss when those clouds get their first kiss and set off on their journey blushing with pink bliss.
Let the clouds continue to bloom when the skies default to blue; all day long, let them come and show off what they can do.
I’ll still be looking up when the sun begins to drop and kisses again the clouds goodnight as night begins its watch.
In front of moon, the clouds pass in my favorite nocturnal dance in lines floating by that captivate and hold me entranced.
Thank you, Creator, for garnishing with clouds; how boring the view would be without! Thank you for the constant reminder that You are still undoubtedly around.