the sun is laughing
flowers kiss
my bruises
trees sing to me of truth
as winds whisper
things of both myths and half-truths
of old and new,
cleansing me of old wounds;
if only for a moment
with the fragrant songs of spring and summer—
the sun sculpts the sky
into carnelians, rubies, pink jasper,
gold, and amethysts;
the flowers
sing their songs
creeks wash away my pain and shame
peace is restored by one stroke
of nature’s paint brush
until the next human stumbles into me
with clumsy, erratic steps
expecting something without giving me anything
feeling entitled to time i do not want nor need to give them.
Image: Viscious-Speed via Pixabay
The Cabinet of Heed 