All the blooms have paid their visit.
They fulfilled their roles to completion.
Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches.
All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree
Where the blooms easily identified the species.
Now they are a forest of trees
Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye.
One lone red maple stands out from the rest.
Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird
Tending to their fragile, precious young?
Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches
They call home.
I call it nature’s greenery.
Remember the scent of the lilacs.
How the air just embodied their aroma
and drifted it into the windows
into my lungs.
Remember when they were teeny tiny buds.
How 5-year old Lilly marveled at their small size.
Little purple bumps bursting from the green.
Remember the Easter lilies
and this was the first year
I got so low to the ground
I could actually smell them for the first time.
Remember the towering orange iris.
Remember the hearty rosebush.
Remember the mimosa tree that
once stood proud, colorful and fragrant.
Now an empty shell.
The weakened trunk sways with a gentle push.
Remember the dogwood’s white blossoms
and Lilly called the neighbor’s pink blossoms
“flower snow” as they fell
and covered the ground in small piles of soft pink.
Remember the woodpecker, the cardinal,
the new birds that decided to stop by for a visit.
Remember the bunny rabbit, like Old Faithful,
arrives around dinner time
looking for her evening meal as well.
Remember the hawk perched on top
of the playset as a squirrel huddled
and hid under the child’s chair
unmoving and the hawk ever patient.
Remember the blue jays that harassed
and chased that hawk away
and the squirrel that timidly crawled
commando style and lived another day.
Remember the sweet breeze from the ocean
even reaching here not so close to the shore
and how I marveled at the salty refreshing air.
Remember the first kiss.
The special rock overlooking the bay
and our life began together.
Remember that tender beginning love
is still here under the surface.
A beloved memory but always here in my heart.
After morning yoga.
After I’ve rearranged the furniture.
I’ve cleared out space
mental and physical.
I welcome the movement, the sighs, the popping joints,
the twists, the surprising strength.
The mental games that try to
take me away from the moment.
When I arrive in my mind and body,
I find soul full awareness.
I am grateful for this body.
For the time carved out just for me.
There is no shame
as my strong thighs hold me upright.
The meanness of cultural norms in
what a pose should look like
what a body should look like.
I honorably greet both ends of the spectrum
and invite a small smile to my lips as I inhale
and clear out the mental clutter once more.
The morning birds are making loud short bursts
even through the soft rain.
They too must meet their needs
and feed that hunger.
It feeds my soul and theirs
to find a shared delight at another
glorious day to be on this earth.
To occupy the same space.
Breathe the same air
and each feel free in our own way.
Free from shame.
Free from stiffness and aches.
Feeling strong and in flight as I move my body
just like the little birds outside my window.
We may not see the sun today
but we each welcome its arrival when it greets us once again.