Good morning. Rabbit. Rabbit. Rabbit.
Fortune for the day – “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” – Annie Dillard
Welcome to Sunday. May this first Sunday in March, be particularly calming, soothing, comforting, and re-setting. May this Sunday find you surrounded in such peaceful tranquility that you can’t imagine ever coming out of its trance of repose. Remember, when you make/allow/find yourself feeling good, you, in turn, uplift the entire world.
Readers, Sundays are dedicated to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. I strongly encourage you to share your beautiful souls in the form of poems in the Comments Section. My new friend and fellow writer, Walberto Campos, has written a strong, poignant poem about his father’s experience with Alzheimer’s disease. I will be publishing that one in the Comments section. Please read it, and please, too, publish your poems in the Comments section. The world can never have enough poetry. Your poems give others permission to share their souls, as well. In poetry, our souls are bared and veiled, all at the same time, which is why I think that we all find poetry so mystifying, yet gratifying. It is so easy to find our own experiences and emotions in almost any poem. Poems are powerful. Here’s my poem for today:
My Little Flower
My little flower grows in someone else’s garden.
Yet, perhaps by providence,
by a Source who loves us both,
I have been assigned to some of her care.
(and perhaps she has been entrusted with some of my care, too)
She is tiny and fragile, yet beautiful and radiant.
She keeps her glowing, purple bloom, reaching towards the sun,
Always. She chooses the sunny side. Always.
Always moving towards the sunshine.
On my designated day, I help to nourish her growth,
hopefully adding some woven strands to her tender roots,
her roots which have already kept her very strong,
through some rough winds and fearful storms.
She has good, solid roots because they fearlessly branch out,
to get her what she needs, to flourish and to blossom.
Every part of her being is fearlessly alive, and flowing, and growing.
She knows how to bloom, my little flower.
She inspires me. And so after carefully tending to her,
I go back to my own garden and everything blossoms,
all the more radiantly, all because of one tiny flower.
