It wasn’t what she thought it would be,
this quiet life.
A procession of cacophonous color
in the garden,
praises the dew of the morning,
turns toward the star of light.
The heady fragrance of rosemary
a reminder of incense.
Genuflecting to grasp an errant weed,
hands clasped around it,
she is enveloped in the passion of life.
a soft murmur of prayer
protects as the psalms
reveal the portions of life.
The incantation of birds after rain,
seeking lifeblood from the chalice
within the blooms.
Morsels from the soil sustain
in pilgrimage or travail.
Heads lift toward paradise,
the sun shimmers through leaves like
votives entreating for eternal life.
Rising, consumed and sated
She recedes in contemplation.