I recall our high place
Where we worshipped on summer nights
Sitting on the pond bank
Watching the sky's reflection on the still waters
Every star perfectly mirrored
We skipped stones along the lucid summer sky
Paying our tithes with moist kisses
Eternity whispered in our ears with breezes
Prayers scattered along the waters edge in white flower petals
We two children, closer to whatever God resided then in our hearts,
Than we would ever be again
Our laughter echoed like church bells rang on Sundays for worship call
The moon, our reverend, calling our hearts
To The Great Alter of All That Is
Time was still and stollen
We lived then,
I go there sometimes still and think of you
Since you were plucked so carelessly as the most beautiful of lotus lillies
~A

Love is so fragile, we entrust it to others to keep within their hands like a small,  delicate bird, so easily crushed if the grip is too strong.

Bloom where you're planted,
All women are told,
To thrive.
We are told to wait to be chosen, to be cut, to be picked the moment we blossom,
Only to be an ornimental object,
Some temporary color,
A disposable distraction.
To simply be beautifully brief.
Well I,
I am more.
I am more than a windblown wish
Than petals to be plucked
Than a wildflower waiting to wilt.
I am rooted. I am grounded.
And I,
I Bloom.

Never forget
That only the uncut flowers
Get to keep on growing.

|b.g.|