i shoot flowers. yes. they are easy. non-moving targets, they can’t get away from you. but, that doesn’t stop me from sighing at the sheer perfection of the shape of a petal, the color dripping from the top of each stem, the negative space that surrounds each blossom.
i need a bit of pretty every so often, and each garden i visit throughout the warm months, gives me that pretty freely, abundantly and exuberantly.
it looks as though i’ll simply keep doing what i do.
Tonight my love is sleeping cold
Where none may see and none shall pass.
The daisies quicken in the mold,
And richer fares the meadow grass.
The warding cypress pleads the skies,
The mound goes level in the rain.
My love all cold and silent lies-
Pray God it will not rise again!