The sun heaved past the horizon setting the treetops on fire Sunlight slowly moved toward the forest floor dispelling the shadows of the night. © Composting Words
In the half awake moments before full consciousness I believed it was July; warm and sunny. I smiled My eyes opened to a gray and rainy morning. Not summer at all. October. And cold. September (and August) already gone. I could feel my heart yearning to go back. I surprised myself with this holding on.…
The late afternoon light gracefully wafted its way down through the trees, waltzed atop the blades of grass, twirling do-si-dos around the dandelions until . . . it landed softly all around me as I sat there cross-legged on the lawn; connecting me to the sacred, right there in my tiny backyard.
To cultivate flowers is to cultivate wonder. Come! We’ll open our hearts to the beauty of the blooms. Our souls will rise upon scents of love to soar in joy among the clouds. To cultivate flowers is to accept death. We’ll hold each others’ hands as the rich colors yield to brown, then give their…
River roars with snow, carrying winter to sea. Green warmth will soon spread.
The delicate beauty of the seed-head reminds us that there is grace, beauty and light in all seasons.
Spent day lily stalks mark the passing of summer. Fallen blooms, once orange and peach ready to compost into next year’s spring.
Winter’s cold fingers grip tightly to the landscape Spring waits in the wings.
A fresh coat of snow paints a white polish on the tired gray of late winter
When you notice the old flower heads standing untidily in last summer’s garden, do you wonder if the gardener is lazy; or, being considerate of the hungry birds seeking winter food? Can you see the allium planted last fall gathering itself to burst forth in purple fireworks once the bright yellow daffodils of early spring…