Safe

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

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Fluttery Summer Whispers

There’s so much commotion
in the garden today,
nature’s busy town square;
eager bees deep in petunia hearts,
moments of shared passion –
summer’s lust.
Ornamental grasses wave,
coaxed into Chinese whispers
by a playful breeze,
butterflies dizzy with
fluttery-giggle-fits.
A red admiral is stunned;
it’s all too much for her,
fragile wings quiver, exhausted
and she stops, completely used up.
I fear she must be dead,
approach her gently, tearful
holding a sorrowful summer prayer.
But she startles me,
opens her rested wings,
snatches it from me –
kindly of course –
and flies off into the quieter blue.
Perhaps she will save it
for a rainy day.

Trapped

Acceptance just flew away.

Accompanied two magpies as
they took off over gardens,
into distant fields now green again,
able to breath from welcome thaw.

I opened the door,
saw the grass,
sensed a sharp edged wind
as loving as it was harsh,
brush against a pale
complaisant sun.

And I wanted to run again.

The Fall and the Photograph

The Fall and the Photograph

Silver spines of hoar frost
cover unsuspecting garden
in a web of lace,
a rare sight this winter;
shouts for attention to be
captured in a moment,
click of finger,
recorded forever.

But the world
has turned sideways,
plant pots at eye level,
empty snail house,
opted for warmer
climes perhaps,
hairy spider
raising his hat –
too close for comfort.

Falling can be helpful,
makes you pause, see,
connect.

I drag myself up,
apologetic dignity
restored,
dust myself down,
and amidst
startled blue air,
click the shutter.

Wendy L. Macdonald

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