Friday, July 20, 2007

Second time around

The grass was dry early this morning
when I went to feed the birds.
No rain was in the forecast,
but the grass was dry,
no dew.



I knew it would rain soon.
I grab my camera and went for my morning walk.
Only to find my battery was dead when I went to snap a photo.
I finished my walk with the reassurance
I could walk again.
It began to sprinkle as I rounded the north curve
in the cemetery.
I cut across the lawns and came home.
A brief shower filled the bird baths.


A fresh battery and a change of lens and I took off again.
I had seen wildflowers in a section that is left native.

As I walked I listened to my inner thinking.
The inquisitive voice, "What's that?" As my eyes darted from one flower to another.
The kind and patient voice, "I don't know. We will look it up when we get home."
As I walked and took my photos I became aware that the body voice has become gentle and kind. I could almost see her silver hair, tidy and pinned into a bun.
Her words are slow and somewhat drawn out, a southern grandmotherly sound.
I love her.

I heard, "Poke weed."
I started to sing,
Poke Salad Annie

2 comments:

Sprite said...

*****

I enjoy this walk today...

I can hear the gentle, kind, and loving grandmother's voice. She is always with us, if we listen to her.

The gentle rain today caused me to give over to meditation, to sit in the quiet and be still.

Breath gentle, and a soft smile contemplating the beauty of a periwinkle sky, and a magnificent close up of seeds of expression. The Poke weed is beautiful. I adore pink and green together.

Today I am reassured by my beautiful friend. Thank you love.

*sprite

Q said...

Dear Sprite,
Having the body voice be the kind and magical Grandmother so works for me!
Finally after all these years I can celebrate being in the body. I love it and my new found kind voice.
I have some poke weed growing in my yard now. I will leave it for the birds. I read they klike the berries in the winter.
Sending blessings,
Sending love and
time to be with the butterflies.
Sherry