
This is real
This is home
As she sinks into her body
This is earth
Inside her bones
And flowers
In her soul
Awaken. Heal. Inspire.
This is real
This is home
As she sinks into her body
This is earth
Inside her bones
And flowers
In her soul
The Angels remind us that like the trees and flowers, we open, we close, we raise our faces to the sun and drink in its emboldened warmth for sustenance when days are cold and hearts are warm with living.
The Angels remind us that the frantic pace of life that seems to demand our participation is only an illusion, created by those who want more at any expense but can’t do it on their own. It’s always a choice to participate….or not. And what fragrant flowers might emerge if we step out and slow down!
Rose petals, like teardrops,
fall softly to my kitchen counter,
surround the vase where the wilted flowers
droop their heads in reverence to the
stooping, plucking, pruning
of Nana tending to her roses
crouching in her gardening shorts,
as I play in the field behind her house,
searching for rabbits’ nests and pulling out
my dollhouse to set up in the quiet patio shade,
of Nana sweet and fragrant as the roses
that she tended, bare legs exposed, a rebel
of a time when women wore only skirts and hosiery,
bustling about in her slippers and shorts,
cultivating an escape from everyday life
of Nana’s hair, soft between my fingertips,
like rose petals, as she lies in bed, life gradually
slipping through grasping hands, ice chips, greeting
cards, and tear-soaked tissues encircling roses
on the bedside table
of my Nana who never cried, at least not that I
can remember, but if she had, I know her tears would be
rose petals, cascading between dreams and
backyard memories, sweetly-scented and multi-hued,
formed together into one final bloom
©SpiritLed 2014