BIRD ON A SUNFLOWER

Love is quietly unfolding
in the garden
across the last three days.
Theo quite likes it.

Every morning,
every mid-afternoon, every evening,
a new little bloom,
an unexpected miracle
finds you.

Friday it blossomed white by morning.
A tall stalk of lupine glistened from silver
to a glowing purple gently into night.

Saturday it blossomed a playground
of peonies,
this time soft pink.
Some leaves then danced
little flecks of yellow sunlight.

Today
an orange goldenrod opened up
to the morning
and more white mock orange flowers awakened
and perfumed.

After the thunder storm last night,
which for us was a gift of early fireworks,
we both marvelled at the white
and dark
peony petals.

They have begun to fall,
wash in shine,
and in their letting go
have become a new leafy and grassy
rainbow rain.

The gentleness
and garden scent
is calmly
soothing,
calmly welcoming.
Theo’s heart is all
delightedness and a sighing joy.
He teaches me. Like the flowers.

The heat is exquisite.
Like a Florida July morning.
The porch garden is a cozy haven of
sweet,
a great spot for some lemonade hugs,
some sleepy shade,

the power of presence
while watching this soft meditative breath in Theo
moving
like an easy swing
in your heart,

and something of the garden bending in you
like grass
that another something effortlessly rides
in a sweet gratitude—

and it’s childhood
and openness and freedom in your senses
and in all that you can collect

on a laid-back porch with your four-pawed
wonder
and a comfortable reading chair.

Ah! Gratitude.
Ah! That I, too, have been made vulnerable
and merciful.
Ah! to those quiet spaces of perfection
that come to breathe with you
and breathe to your beauty
and break
each imperfect beautifully perfect
day.

Photography by Marina Mashaal