conferring with the flowers

We while away the hours looking for clues in speech; looking for signs in language. Gifts can be exchanged occasionally, but not all of the thoughts that pass. Can I understand someone else’s plight? Will their burdens and hurdles be something that I can breathe in? If only the contents of a heart could truly be known. If only the rhythms of a soul’s desire could be understood. If only the innermost dreams had a voice to advocate rather than a future to suspend. I am happy for the rainfall, because I choose to be happy. I understand that it gets hot, windy, cold, and snowy at inopportune times. The ground thirsts. People everywhere are hungry for the extraordinary. Meeting Nadia was extraordinary. I am sorry for the loss of her father. Life hands me momentous photos and brief captions. I return to life murmurs and the occasional laughter. If there is a spot to find, or a destination to be that is home, it might as well be there, if that is where the heart is. The roof wouldn’t fit anywhere else. It isn’t big enough for the dreams to be.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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