Daisy Windows

What other kind of peace paces the time spent watching a tiny rabbit nibble greens at dawn?

Every step we take can be on lush, flourishing ground. Speaking of Sting, he gives a decent concert and his son is not a bad song writer either.

I am still only thinking of myself when I ask to be held or kissed or desired. Let it ride, you say? Letting it all go is what it means to love one another as We are truly Loved. This lesson may have presented itself for the last time. The amethyst-turned-pendant nested against my thigh in the pocket of my pants during the biopsies – a gift given away, and a lesson about how to give it all away.

What you want is what I want. This and other scrawled wisdom in lemon-lime pollen dusting everything which stays still for awhile.

Whatever we think is happening, we have done it to ourselves, and this is the secret we keep from our own heart.

Daisy windows slightly ajar before summer. June already rises despite May's mousy presentation of spring.

We are all innocent or all guilty. There is no otherwise. The remembrance of this is the only memory that will not plague us, beloved. All else we must let go.

Forest trillium, lilac bushes in bloom, the first butterflies choreographing summer.

I'm no longer interested in holding the past against the now. This ancient new, speaking of today's blooms only.