the blue muse

because sometimes you have to stand up

and reach for the light

even as the day dawns darkly

and sometimes what’s right

must grow through black soil

gathering strength and dreaming

of valor

.

.

.

.

the color of love

except in the morning

against a sky

of

gold and promises

.

.

.

.

blushing with the memory

of sun on skin and

layers of blue sky blanket

tiny stars of optimism

in a kitchen filled with

mittens and boots

and the slight refusal

of dormancy

.

.

.

.

She kept her heart

at the center

of everything

.

.

.

.

.

time, divided

between

life and love

work and leisure

bloom and wither

song and silence

.

hope, multiplied

.

.

.

and big-hearted

open and bloom

breathe and expand

exalt and embrace

.

.

.

A lone larkspur growing in the middle of the patio area,
there because I didn’t have the heart
to pull it up like a weed.

This morning, rushing through life
in getting-things-done mode,
I stopped to admire its tenacity.

Summer is here.

Life is here.

Inhale.

.

Thank you, my lovely larkspur.

.

.

.

an old-fashioned word for an old-fashioned flower

i kind of love them both

.

wishing you a weekend filled with love

.

.

.

.

in purple
beneath a spun glass sky
of clear cerulean
.

the color
of promises

.

.

.