Frosted silver-blue in spring ushers in eucalyptus dreams. I inhale the heavenly possibilities wafted through my senses and altering my inner being, frosting me with the sweet scents of what can be and what can never be lost, centuries of hope long ago and perpetually seeded that spring up each annual season despite the body’s expiration sacrificed for the birthing of eternal angel wings. Every heart’s whisper, every tear that ever watered, becomes a part of me, as I am a part of each, all of us connected, evidenced in these ambrosial eucalyptus leaves.Â
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
Vulnerable, fragile,
fleeting, yet trusting,
May petals humbly open
to receive Dawn’s blessing,
and I do not take for granted
this holy witnessing:
upon bird wing and song,
Hope’s daily lifting.
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.
Unfurl your light,
one ray at a time,
no hurry,
for there are plenty
of cloudy days and
star-inspired nights
to regroup strength
in between
the seasons and petals
and dreams.
Keep tenderly nurturing
that inner glowing seed;
no need to even reach
your full potential
this spring –
the journey is in the growing
and the courage developing
to achieve
all you were designed to be:
simply you, bloomed
into belief of your
beauty.
Befriending bumblebees, watching cloud-shapes come to life, making majestic the flowering weeds, the peace around me seeps in when I am outside.
(See the bumblebee?)
Time may tick, but no manmade clock interrupts Laura’s la-la land thoughts. I am one of them, the nature alive in the yard, no language needed when you are birthed from the stars, though I do whistle in response to the birds; in another life, I learned the wordless verses.
Sunlight dances with my frizzy tresses; soon I will waltz with the summer wind in sundresses. I don’t need to go far; just don’t make me go in. I wish to stay longer as princess in this magical kingdom.
Laura Denise 