Untouched brush burgeoning through decayed wood fences and years old Ivy climbing up the sides of peeled paint houses brings out the wonder and solemn appreciation of little hidden histories that remain there
Tag: Poetry
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The first, flirtatious, with an unpredictable joie de vivre. Swift yet lucky in her ways, reminding me to embrace the moment.
Shortly after came one with enviable aerodynamics that showed me how to accept the reality of change that comes in a flutter of a wing. A reflection of what is meant of my florescence.
The last one was of considerable size to the ones before who didn’t stay for long. He took what he needed then went. A mass, ripe with hidden power that led me to fortify a stronger stem and longer roots.
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I’m not depressed, possibly overwhelmed but still happy. It’s pouring outside and I’m breathing in the cool air until the weather decides it wants to be spring again. I no longer volunteer myself to the past. I’m no victim. I’m strong, I feel like steel. Look at all that I was able to do; now unphased with a mind newly fortified. Trickles of sand are swept back into the sea, but the boulder withstands against the waves and I know which one I want to be
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The desert glows where the road bends and in its raw beauty I wonder if this wildflower will ever bloom away from here
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Severe winds violently scrape against my window like white noise lulling me into light sleep. Winter storms soothe me better than chicken soup for the soul. Snow flurries twinkling from the moonlight, purifying the ground in solid white. I take comfort in knowing I’ll wake in a frosted wonderland instead of brash sun rays of urgency..
There’s magic in still mornings.
The Wise Old Owl 