“I woke to the sound of rain.” ~ Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
It is not the unyielding rainfall,
but rather the constant gray drizzle
which can pull her into a relentless gloom.
She teases herself with memories of
lingering bygone days of summers past;
the sent of roses and lavender filling the air around her.
When this happens she reminds herself
that every season merits a place in her heart,
every season has a purpose, a place in the order
significance and beauty.
It is her job to notice.
Her job to find beauty in the tiniest details.
It is only when she is conscious of this
that she is reward, compensated
She understands then, that no day should be wished away,
no moment pushed aside or ignored.
But, rather gathered up in her arms to be held deep inside her very being.
isn't life grand.... xooox