hot pink petals
this song: Most People Are Good by Luke Bryan
dreaming on a little side porch
fig newtons and hot tea
saturday mornings with friends
this book: The Journal 1837–1861 by Henry David Thoreau
dinner on a blue and white farm table
ice cream for the pup
hearty wildflowers and herbs on the edge of the forest
reading under light blankets at midnight
and this song: Hello It’s Me by Todd Rundgren
these are the weeds she would have removed and i love them all the more for their potent life force, their brilliant defiance
lives entwined–
one growing upon another,
memories overlapping;
your dreams embracing my dreams
she listens to the crow’s call,
and it’s like coming home
the tenderness of tiny blue flowers and the velvet touch of petunias, offer sprigs of happiness
“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
with their erratic flight and soft buzzing she was hypnotized by the bees
the leaves fall, one by one–
the tears of summer days and youthful years
she exhaled a warm breeze through the generations–
over castles and moats, around labyrinths and garden mazes;
her whispers wrapped thin and tall and solid
in her heart she was a wild and feral thing
spanishwoods 