Fireworks resumed deep in the stomach, avalanching a euphoria that bled enormous lilies.
The attendant soundtrack was quite abstract [ocean at high tide set to rain]: recompense for too many days of suffering.
If you can only blame yourself, don’t blame anyone.
It’s often necessary to bully oneself out of a corner in private margins of melancholy, remembering that nothing lasts, including stone walls and the vines that find them.
The towering crimson bee balm [and wild globe thistle] had multiplied the garden path and invited teal-bellied hummingbirds while the confused treefrog stayed suctioned to the inner garage wall.
The neighbor’s daughter was stalking blue dragonflies and singing of lily ponds.
Love is a camel ferrying exhausted birds across the desert, hoarding rain, drinking all the stars.
It was difficult to stay in one’s lane with so many distracted drivers and hopeless tailgaters. You missed the turnoff and the appointment at the place that promised to fix you [that wasn’t covered on your insurance plan anyway].
The rope somehow became unknotted from your last anchor.
Everything is philosophy, isn’t it?
No longer oppressive, the sun fell behind the fruitless apple tree [still without a mate] and decorated the horizon screen with cloud paintings.
Beautiful things [dusk-fall, fields of yellow star flowers, elegant blue herons] stopped us in our tracks because we needed them—even bitterroot blooms.