Hibiscus past prime,
creation divine,
chrysalis of love
hatched, released
into the light.
Intricate shell
fossilizes secrets;
sometimes what’s
left behind is all
the epitaph needed.
Determined to counter the moody clouds others have been attempting to cast onto me, I choose to seek out the sun, spring-infuse myself, dip my soul into the fresh-blooming green,
breathe in the revitalizing April air, let the warming rays seep in through my pores, absorbed more in the whole of the reborn panorama than focused on the details imploring to be explored,
labrador-blue heeler happy for any outdoor adventure, not a hike but a mutually restorative leisurely linger, ahhh…a new season…
Circling back to the start, back to the car, I am not allowed to leave, it seems, until Mother Nature imparts a lesson, whispers words of wisdom through some not-new, refusing-to-be-forgotten leaves from two seasons ago, still here, and starkly so, weathered, fossilized autumn,
a reminder of the past not so easily dismissed; buried or not, it insists on revisits, coming to you if you neglect it, but what we make of what is, that is the endless work or blessing depending on the nature of what was– bright, shiny yellow of yesterday against the conglomerate of rocks, man-manipulated into asphalt, a yellow sickness or stubborn fading sun, either way the marring, tattered edges and holes, do not seem to take the whole, still here despite the winter with a fortitude to witness, to reunite with the green it was itself once.
I see a reminder that we can turn our back on the past and run to spring, but all seasons remain, never really leave, inside us always are the memories, tears of joy and loss, the scars of life; we can embrace it all, co-exist in peace with all that is inside.
I choose to find the positive, even in the stumbling upon the past in my determined celebration of the present moments, all presents indeed, and then I find a smile in the concrete when I see yet another unexpected chapter of a love story, so pure and yet to be complete…
I wonder what those resigned to defeat see. Perception can sting regardless, some things we simply must feel but perspective… that is the key in our control and possession, a powerful tool we can self-weld and self-wield, manipulate, to preserve our internal peace.
A little over two years ago, I visited Ponce de Leon Springs State Park with some friends. It was September, and the water was cold enough to keep most out of it, 68 degrees year-round. Some brave souls waded in the shallow waters.
I dove headfirst off a rock into the deep.
It was a time in my life of great upcoming transition, a time in which I needed to dig deep to find the courage I needed to commit to life changes. When my whole body was instantaneously submerged in the frigid, crystal-clear waters, I felt the freedom, the emergence into a new life, the farewell to the old me.
I needed this. This fountain of youth.
I did not wish to become younger. I wished to live longer. I wished to add back the years of my life I may have lost from the disease of stress. I was ready to start fresh, though some residue cannot be fully washed off, washed away.
Today, other days, I remember that day. That rebirth. I made that dive with purpose, with full faith, full humility, full submissiveness to my higher power. It was a pact with nature, my oldest comrade, the universe, benevolent despite my seemingly unfair shake.
I am a photographer, but I did not take pictures of the deep spring. I did not think to have my friends capture my moment. I did not need equipment to capture it. I knew the moment would remain in my spirit always, as clear and natural as the water.
I did capture two things with my lens that day, I realize as I scroll through my pictures. I will let them speak for themselves; after all, a picture is worth a thousand words.
Sometimes, though, a non-picture is worth so much more…
Laura Denise 