that's mrs. mediocrity to you

The morning is still, so still I can hear grasshoppers buzz and crickets walk. Okay, of course I can’t really hear them walk, but you know what I mean.

Dew has covered everything during the night, there is no place to sit in my garden that isn’t wet, and so I stand, watching a pink sky fade into the grey of rain’s promise. A promise that has been made again and again this year, and broken just as many times.

And still, my garden grows, flowers being stubborn even in the worst of times. They have a job to do and they will do it, as long as there is an inch of life left in them. I have to say, I admire their spirit.

On days like this, I want to be the sky that embraces them, the soil that feeds them, the light that brings them hope.

Actually, on days like these, I want to be one of them, reaching, stretching, working to make the world a better place. Fulfilling a purpose, cycling through the inevitable cycle, breathing and moving, waiting and hoping. Drooping in the heat of the sun, and finding new strength during warm dark nights.

And then facing sunrise with an upturned face and blind optimism.

This past week, in my whirlwind of discarding, I found a book that I had started writing years ago. As in, 20-some years ago. I had completely forgotten about it. I’m not sure why or how I had so easily let its existence fall from my mind. It seems like you should remember something like that.

I had titled it Girl with No Flowers.

I haven’t had time yet to read through it, but I will. From an entirely new perspective of who I am and what I am doing here.

Because these days, I most definitely have flowers.

And flowers always grow.

it’s easy to miss
all those tiny trapped wishes
held aloft in tight spots and spaces
holding breath and
harboring hope
or at least something
resembling optimism

fragile
diaphanous
ethereal

that’s what you think
when you see them there
hanging on for dear life or

shuddering in the slightest breeze
just waiting to be set free

when in truth
they are stronger
than you

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

This past week was the first week-long vacation I have taken in the summer in years.

It felt like I would never get everything done in time to get there, to “time-off,” to the choice of doing nothing and everything.

But I made it, and there it was, a week spread out before me waiting to be filled with family and laughter and gypsy living.

And free time.

Which of course, is never really free. But there is something to be said for having no agenda, for simply rolling along with the hours, come what may.

Reading in the shade of tall, tall pines for most of an afternoon. Morning tea before a campfire. Using the moon as your night light.

Filling time with less than instead of too much.

While I was away, this tiny cucumber grew large enough to be harvested. Life went on without me here to watch its progress.

Just like always.

I haven’t picked it yet, but I still have two days to bask alongside it in the glow of the sun.

Most likely, I will spend them with a book in hand.

And lazy, leisurely dinners filled with the fruits of my labor.

It’s always, always, good to be home.

in a forest

of susans

sipping nectar

at dusk

and dancing

in the memory

of moonlight’s

shadow

.

of course,

you’re

invited

.