Good morning…
In the middle of this Earth Day night, I marvel at the cut flowers dropped off on my doorstep. I am nudged to return to the words a friend recently read aloud to me. Again I am touched. I am moved. My breathing slows and deepens.
Might you, too, be touched, be moved to breathe differently?
******
Like A Peony by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Like the peony that opens
and opens and opens,
this is how I want to meet life—
surviving the cold
then returning to bloom
again. Again.
That vibrant. That many-petaled.
Embarrassingly fulsome,
as if life just can’t
get enough of itself.
I know how winter ravages.
Sounds like a metaphor?
Truth is life cuts you to the ground
and you lose all but the roots.
Sometimes those, too.
How is it, then, comes
the chance to bloom again,
to be less master of life,
and more servant
to the life that pushes through.
I want to be fluent in blooming.
I want to trust the possibility
of sweet spring perfume
as much as I trust
the inevitability of frost.
I am so grateful for beauty,
albeit brief,
for the chance to be naked,
tender, soft.
******
“Open up, heavens, and rain. Clouds, pour out buckets of my goodness! Loosen up, earth, and bloom salvation; sprout right living. I, God, generate all this” (Isaiah 45:8, MSG).
“Be fluent in blooming,” a fertile phrase lingers.
…Sue…
