(NOTE: I realize this post is quite a departure from the norm, but I trust you’ll forgive the lack of continuity. There will be more informational posts in the future. For now, allow me to dedicate the following to a special reader.)
My flower folds its lovely petals downward, but the sun still shines on it, unable to
Resist its beauty.
A stem gracefully extended, with full, rounded leaves that sway
Undulating with the breeze, firmly rooted but flexible enough not
To break in the windstorm.
Bees hover, nectar worshipping, buzzing annoyingly with anticipation, but her inner sanctum remains
Painfully out of reach, their long insectile tongues lapping at air
For her petals fold downward, and the light delicate wisps of her petals
Brush the unforgiving thorns underneath, and the scars on the underside toughen
And guard while they injure, like swords with no handles.
I refrain from reaching out to grasp it, desiring a longer gaze, or rather, an imprint of
That flower, pressed into my memory in eternity, or as long as that lasts,
Yet it bends with the breeze – or is my lovely tree enticing the breeze – darts and dangles
Belies its own beauty by embracing the turbulent air that buffets and
Bows it to the ground in unwelcome worship of the wind.
In moments of cessation, it peaks upward, and the sun rejoices, for what is a sunray without a place to lay its photons to rest on a place of soft solitude and safe harbor
A lovely bed of countenance that angels envy
For they cannot collect nor hold the particular particles that flow through their protective visage and
Land on their preferred place of refuge.
I behold longer. I sit, and wait for the petals to open in acceptance
For the full and graceful leaves to envelop the photonic embrace that is seeking them.
For my flower is what it is, and cannot be what is isn’t, even before it knows it is
the loveliest in the garden, as the sun, and I, wait patiently
for her petals to spring forth in upward gaze, triumphant not in victory, but in loss,
loss of all that was not needed, all that was gained from careless pruning and withering words from incompetent gardeners
For losing is winning when what is lost was not yours
And I smile at my flower, and she smiles back
Photons dancing on rivers of joy and peace
A breeze gently caresses in a sigh of relief
And we sway together in the wandering wind,
A lovely, longing, wandering wind.
We sway, beautiful flower and I,
In a wandering, wonderful wind.