Into the Unknown red flowers hung on a flower tree, growing there both wild and free every day a fresh journey. all destinations offer to surprise. sometimes we flew wingless in the wide and cloudy skies. walking on volcanic soil was always such a joy. red flowers growing on a tree created so much mystery. flowers like this we'd never seen. (came from places we've never been) they bother nothing, excite some bees, red flowers hung on a flower tree, growing there both wild and free
Kalanchoe 2020b1 locked inside, today i look at memories. think about all those friends who might have been. beautiful women who smile at me, and don't even know my name. i look at novels i have not yet begun to write, dream of houses i have yet to build, meditate on songs i have not written, nor ever sung. is it time to regret my time is yet so limited, the things i wanted to do and have not?
Colour Dance waiting for sunrise, pastel orange sky, december's icy winter, i watch as birds fly, east (not south). confusion! a bouquet sings, it dances, pirouettes, flashes excited eyes. she worships beauty in her mirror, in the morning light. when the sun arises, she sings a bouquet song. she is amazing in wonderful colours, that i cannot see. her beauty blinds me, lights in skies, long summer days. it pays to be careful. staring at the sun damages our vision. her overwhelming beauty.
see where i've been a vibrant garden, it all stands still this coloured scene. hurtle through the sky, some summer day five hundred miles per hour, so they say. a garden has some mystery, a latent threat, a body buried somewhere, no regrets. a virus, all invisible has murdered peace of mind. estranging friend from friend, who could not stand comfortably close, to share those all important confidences social creatures mad monkeys in a riot, how can the centre hold, it's never quiet. see where i've been a vibrant garden, it all stands still this coloured scene.
Rosemary almost december, i dug, as she said. take up the rosemary, out of the bed. i dug as directed, she knows what she wants dug up the herbs, put them in pots. winter, you see will be coming by soon, and cold will get nasty, far beyond gruesome. but her herbs in a pot and under our lights, should live all the winter and into the spring.
Kalanchoe bunches of tiny white dreams: flowers, bundled like tiny bouquets, they come from far away, across a world. (we never saw them disembark the plane.) they say the dream business will not be the same. we cannot fly, the virus clipped our wings. sunny destinations live only in our dreams. nothing is certain, everything has changed. our world was such a wonder, but now that's rearranged.
Golden Rose Heart so beautiful, her colours swirl, like a whirlpool of beautiful colours, which can reveal so much beauty, in a world that needs so much. so, when my memories fade, i'll be happy to have seen her golden rose heart.
it's a little orange something, nice to look at. if i listen, i will hear that. part of this picture is quite sharp and clear, and part of it looks fuzzy. some things are pretty simple, some are quite a puzzle. we want our world back, better somehow than it was. (let's not look too closely at the mess we made. if we looked at the truth of it, we should be afraid.)
green centres, looking like little universes, something beautiful to discover. yellow petals ring around green centres, little spiral galaxies on a stem. green may be springtime's signature. we see green emerge from thawing mud. shoots reaching up for sunshine, green excitement.
they seem to have their own stories, sitting, beautifully on a display rack the story of rainbows: a promise, to not kill everyone with another flood. i look out my window. at that bulletproof rainbow, these days, our sense of safety forever gone, we want it back. i hear that promises get broken, shattered like hearts. when the mighty have fallen, nothing and nowhere feels secure. we should try to remember to celebrate our beautiful memories; never forget the fallen, while we breathe.