The garden is a timeless world
with no map;
I simply lean a little more
to the right or left
as did Cezanne
and see it all.
I sit among the flowers
alone but not lonely;
they have become friends,
the kind who stay around,
forgive and maybe even forget,
keep with you
when fear grips and
nothing makes sense.
Bees forage without regrets;
I can only move forward,
thoughts now infused with gratitude
for the privilege of life.
They become soft,
muted with warmth,
welcome antithesis of
yesterday’s sharp edges.
Elated birdsong
disperses the stillness and
although I have no idea
who or what is holding me together
I feel safe,
for today at least,
and that is enough.
“Here on the river’s verge, I could be busy for months without changing my place, simply
leaning a little more to the right or left” – Paul Cezanne
journeyintopoetry 