I keep thinking the flowers on the trees will disappear over night. For the past 9 nine days I’ve been mentally making plans to go down town with my camera JUST to capture this time. The essence of spring, of something new. Like the ribbon on a well wrapped gift … once it’s taken off, you can never really get it back. Not the way it was.
But I drive past our main road every day and those trees with their white flowers are still bursting with surprise.
It catches me off guard, every single time I see it.
I drive the roads flanked with tulips, still on display. And I notice the flowering trees in full bloom. I see the carpet of green on every lawn, not yet have I seen spotty brown grass. Everything is lush. It’s just full. Everything is reeling in the aftermath of this really harsh winter and maybe I never really paid attention before, but this year it just gets me.
Like a beauty that I had forgotten. Something I wondered if I’d ever experience again is finally here. It’s renewal, but it’s lasting.
That’s what keeps surprising me. It hasn’t gone away yet. It hasn’t melted into the melody of greens and garden boxes. It’s holding on, as if to tell me …
… she was worth the wait.
There’s an ordinary paradise
and like a song
she sings for me
she comes from places
I didn’t know I kept secret
and she’s not hard to find
when I start to look for her …
… in the everyday places.
I’ll run away to the trees. The big ones, wrapping their way around the earth like liquid roots. I want to smell their fragrance and touch their furry bark. I want to sit on their limbs, sprawling and climbing, I want to feel wild and small and I want to pretend again.
I want to run the aisle of asphalt cut through the thick of the forest. The yellow brick pattern of left and right, of order and chaos.
I want to go.
Just let me go.
There’s beauty every where you look, but
mostly when you aren’t looking
It’s not hard to find. In a magazine, your dreams.
But it evades your earnest search, your seeking heart
when you’re looking too hard for the wrong kind
Look inside first.
my mom used to play piano in church
we’d clap our hands like the trees of the field
and it would marinate our house on Sunday mornings
while she practiced
In Texas she would put the house to sleep
at the ivory keys
and I was mesmerized by the instrument
it’s maze of wires and the curved wood
Her body swayed in time while her feet
peddled the melodies
and the bass would rumble as her
fingers climbed the scales
I never had nightmares on the nights
she played the piano
because the music washed over me like a blanket
warm and heavy
There’s something about piano
it doesn’t matter where I am
when the last note lingers and
I find myself, eyes closed in reverence,
hanging on for just one more note …
because I just went to church
and God spoke right to me.