A careless hand
Tossed seed hulls out the window.
A sunflower grew there
Piercing the well groomed lawn
Loomed over by bureaucratic bricks
Yet always facing the sunshine.
A little bit of wildness
A flash of bright orange
Had forced its way through.
In the name of homogeneity,
Somebody mowed it down.
Now a squash is growing along the standard landscaping wall.
Curling neon green tendrils,
A line of coral blossoms
In bright flagrancy.
going up the hill to the house, we
saw flowers that she loved, and picked them
black eyed susans, sweet williams, daisies, columbine.
we gripped them in our plump warm hands.
by the time we made it, panting,
having stopped for toads and all the small things,
we presented them to her half-wilted.
“ragweed gives me allergies” she would say, plucking one of them out.
the rest would go in a vase of honor on the kitchen table
a small token of each others’ love.
going down the hill to the creek, we
see flowers that she loved, and pluck them
dandelions, sweet williams, violets, asters.
at the bottom trickles clear water
over mossy gray rocks
and we tip her ashes in.
they are white
like her hair
like her devotion
white like the sugar in her blood
like the angels she adored.
they swirl the water opaque
atop it we scatter the flowers
a painter’s palette of Missouri colors
blackberry, butter yellow, sap green, slate.
the sandy ashes sink.
it takes a full hour for them to wisp away
grain by grain into the gentle landscape.
we’re used to waiting for her.
no matter how we tried to rush,
she always did move slowly,
tasting her fine wine time.
This one’s from a long time ago! I don’t even know how long.
Look at how pretty it is here. This is in Canterbury. We saw an eel down there!
Funny, most people blog about their travels. Guess I’m backwards. I’ll tell some stories about it when I get back. Until then, I probably won’t blog again until Wednesday or so. Am cheap. Limited Internet access.
It’s 1:30am here so I gotta go to bed but I just wanted to let everyone know I’m still alive!
I’ve skipped some days of Inktober but I don’t care. Type B here. They say the type A plants the roses, the type B stops to smell them. In the same vein, it’s not about what you accomplish with the ink… it’s about sniffing it. *falls over*
Page 2 of On Time. See page 1 here.
Also, here’s a little thank you card I drew for a friend who gave us such a nice dinner I felt like we should be nice back.
We both have cats that eat our houseplants, so it seemed appropriate.
HAPPY MONDAY! ❤