Sunlight Reflecting off the Wildflowers

Originally Posted: Friday, May 12, 2017

Sunlight Reflecting off the Wildflowers



When you wake up to the sunlight reflecting off the wildflowers swaying in the breeze, and the cows grazing outside your bedroom window, you know it's going to be a good day.

My fears had a slumber party in my head last night.
Perhaps I will send my fears away for just one day.
Or perhaps I will invite them to join me
to explore a field of wildflowers
or a beach
or an ancient fort on top of a mountain.
Perhaps they will pick the flowers
and frolic in the waves
or raise their heads and breathe in
the air of eternity.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Anniversary Memories

(upon the anniversary of my dad's death)

Afternoon shadows deepen
and anniversary memories trigger the saddest day of my life.
Twenty-seven years of loss feels like yesterday
and I struggle to remember
your voice,
your smile,
your laughing eyes,
dry sense of humor inherited.

I learned,
but under-appreciated
your stoic sense of responsibility and self-control, commitment, and incapsulated joy,
respect,
and I just want you to know,
I appreciate you
now.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Read more

Tropical Depression

Carrying coffee around like a baby's
bottle, appreciating the electric grid
and praying it holds, still
safe and dry, some aren't,
pelting rain sounding like ping
pong balls dropping against the back
drop of howling wind, flood
warnings widespread, refuged by
brick, buried cables, some aren't,
trees taking the brunt, waving
limbs, so far so good,
some aren't so fortunate. Bird
singing in the storm, dog
at my feet, sheltered, protected,
some aren't.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018




Read more

Reta's Garden

Water flowing, flame inspiring, life
reclaiming, birdsounds and laughter, friendly face,
soaring birds, spirit everywhere.
Greening power of life, abundant, lush
into death, cycled rebirth, air and sun,
invitation, spirit within, communal
bonds, now and ever.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Read more