HOPE

Trapped at dawn in a drop of dew on a wilted leaf;

silent;

tiny;

Stuck at dusk between the pages of a book on dying;

invisible;

ready.

Woven in the motions of a discombobulated world.

Entwined in the cries of migrating birds.

Rapture. Or despair.

Emerging from a grief that will not be silenced.

Rising from the ashes of a soul that refuses to die.

Abandon. Or faith.

Cradled at dusk in the folds of hands joined in prayer;

true;

vibrant.

Born at dawn from the knowing of a voice deep inside;

soft ;

constant.

Just Because

Reaching far and beyond

for elusive answers: death over birth,

pain over joy.

And why the kitchen floor always squeaks in the same spot.

 

Questioning the rhythmic waves

of nature’s cycles: golden leaves, half moons,

low tides.

And the hidden wisdom of planting flowers in the rain.

 

Rejecting the possibility

That all may be as it should be: broken branches,

collapsed hearts.

And the burnt edges of blueberry muffins cooling in the pan.

 

Eventually touching the bitter bottom

where doubt and fear lead the dance: screams,

tantrums, whys?

And the salty mess of my nose running out of control.

Eyes closed…

Breathing…

…the kitchen floor wakes up with the laughter of children,

flowers grow in the misty sunshine,

muffins fill up hungry bellies.

And a nose is also made for smelling…LIFE…as it is.

Life as is.

 

Embracing the knowledge that

comes from knowing nothing at all: spiders are silent, birds sing.

For no apparent reason.

And the undying joy of being part of it all.

Just because.