Awash in beauty

Life moves forward, twisted bumps and turns exhaust

the feelings of uncertainty- here we gather in single formation,

buds on the line weathering storms created,

as indecision inspires the muse of words, spinning out of control she bleeds on parchment and weeps for the skies.

In the middle of nowhere the song rises, reaching ears in prisons without walls, flying high to gather safe,

One bird, two bird, ten come forth to mock as life unfolds,

Minutes, seconds, ticking by in their haphazard way-and I watch before drifting into afternoon slumber, the flowers unfurl from rest,

Uninhibited by the goings-on of us mere mortals who cower, afraid for the invisible madness that may or may not strike, perhaps it is we that now gaze in jealousy of a young cardinal on the line who sings a song,

Flying high and away, things we can only dream of in this hour.

I am watching the unfolding of creation and have found a sacred peace as witness to that which I had forgotten.

I spy greatness in the Orchids, and thus, I am alive to the forgotten calling of allowing.