I’d hoped to record an entry today, but the painters are enthusiastically painting the house next door. (Nice guys, loud workers.)
So I’m offering two poems that gave themselves to me this weekend.
Today’s photos are Four O’Clock blossoms from the garden. I adore the painterly qualities of these blossoms. Not much editing, just some cropping, a bit of light to show the colors, and then the frames. No color enhancement.
It wasn’t needed; Mother Nature does magnificent work.
And I adore the pollen detail in photo number I.
Peace and hope.
It only takes a reminder to breathe,
a moment to be still, and just like that,
something in me settles, softens, makes
space for imperfection. The harsh voice
of judgment drops to a whisper and I
remember again that life isn’t a relay
race; that we will all cross the finish
line; that waking up to life is what we
were born for. As many times as I
forget, catch myself charging forward
without even knowing where I’m going,
that many times I can make the choice
to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk
slowly into the mystery.
Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself to this world
so worthy of rescue.