My hands are filled with so much love Grandma hands me a kitchen spoon to help her weed the garden my Mother’s slender fingers holding a paintbrush, still contemplating the next stroke my Daddy’s holding a newborn kitten and an eyedropper of milk tiny hands that tugged at a stray lock of my hair staring into my eyes with startling intensity even then little hands that held a tiny bluegill or a handful of desiccated worms up for me to admire big strong hands that hold me when the storms come, even now oh yes my hands are filled with so much love
A heart broken by an uncaring society. She went to the forest to escape the noise of humanity and embrace the sweet silence of nature. Even here the sounds of man intruded, a siren here, a loud engine there, nowhere was there a silent space for her to rest her weary mind and soul. She slumped to the damp ground and took a breathe of the forest, the smells of wet leaves, of green growth. She began to shut out the human sounds and hear the whispers of the forest around her. Gently they soothed her with bird song and the soft caress of breeze, the sweet smell of the trees and flowers. The seeds of contentment were sown in her heart and began their healing until once again she felt her blooming heart pulsing with the rhythm of nature.
“I ask only to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterfly.” ~ Charles Dickens, Bleak House
A blue butterfly lands on my shoulder Absolem has transformed from wise old caterpillar into beautiful blue butterfly still wise, still blue, but sans hookah now enlightened but still crabby he flutters away with a final kiss he has transcended, he is free
The Great Mother called and she answered with joy the woods of the forest held her favorite toys sticks and stones, a pine cone or two she spent days out there with really nothing to do just to watch the woodpeckers, the siskins and doves cooing and flitting were her greatest loves her smile said it all as she stood by the stone out in the forest you’re never alone
It is Spring and there is surely a magical meadow with a white rabbit in a waistcoat checking his pocket watch. Where brightly colored eggs filled with treats are born. A meadow where white lilies bloom with sweet fragrance while blue butterflies cavort with wild abandon.
Magical meadow childlike beauty of springtime inner peace and light
In that moment between snowflakes falling when your breath creates clouds in the air in the place where stars shine bright in the ebony sky and in those lazy seconds between sleeping and waking when your dreams are still real and delicious in the crystalline blue silence of the predawn sky that is where you will find me … waiting for you
Moonlight lights the cherry blossoms as they flutter along philosophers walk settling in the water of the canal. The moon gives off a pink glow of her own in old Kyoto. Fitting as the air is filled with the scent of cherry blossoms. I could spend my life right here, in this moment breathing in the sweet scent and gentle glow and it would be a good life. A blossom drifts lazily down to settle on my hair and I am blessed.
Cherry blossom skies a gift of springtime for all blossoms in my hair
As I walked along the forest path an unusual flower I happened to pass with thorns like daggers, the flower fair released it’s perfume into the air tempting many an unwary hand to pluck a blossom from the land only to curse her scorpion sting and ignore the wisdom it should bring there’s often beauty in what we scorn to reach the flower you must risk the thorns