the yellow finch sits
on a peony's white cloud flower
gently swaying in this Sunday morning breeze
there is no jihad
in this garden
no christian evangelist
no death
no damnation
no monuments
no shattered dreams
no far away wars
no preacher
except the yellow finch
no scripture
but the day.
Namaste.
on a peony's white cloud flower
gently swaying in this Sunday morning breeze
there is no jihad
in this garden
no christian evangelist
no death
no damnation
no monuments
no shattered dreams
no far away wars
no preacher
except the yellow finch
no scripture
but the day.
Namaste.
1 comment:
Amen and hallelujia.
I spent four days up in the mountains, up on the green hills, away from the city. Away from the radio, away from the television, with nothing but the whirring gospel of hungry hummingbirds and the quivering leaves of aspen.
And while I cannot hide my head in the sand all the days of my life, it was good and nourishing to be nothing more than my soft animal self with sticks and string in a box of wood among the trees.
Spike
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