Praising Wildflowers

I’ve heard all the thoughtful talk
about life’s purpose and its meaning –
just never took any of it all that seriously.
Happily purposeless, my skull
a bowl of delicious sunshine, I ramble
through magnificent mountain meadows
while meaning, that mewling straggler,
struggles hopelessly to catch up.
It hops along on one ragged foot,
while mine barely touch the ground.
I’m not here to explain –
I’m here to praise.
Sometimes an explanation
can be a form of praise.
Just so, I offer
the following explanation:
There is nothing to explain.
Praise be!
There have been enough
explanations, not enough praise.
The very act of appearing at all
is reason enough for praise —
it needs no explanation.
Listen, you old mountain:
not one wise word today
about history or spiritual direction –
not while these fabulous wildflowers
run a giddy riot up and down your hillsides!
Last night I slept in a wild lily bed
as the cool night breeze wove lullabies
and stalks and flowers, hearts and souls
revolved together, tethered in trysts,
anointed by that heavenly perfume
of a full moon’s irresistible shine.
Brushing pollen from hands and feet,
crusty remnants of sleep from my eyes,
I rise at dawn, smile and yawn, and welcome
the sun with a wink and a nod, greeting
my own self in each fresh lily sigh
of gently humming gratitude.
Awake, I’m ready to wander on,
revived once more by my lily loves,
all happily tilting toward the unknown,
the vast open sky that I call home.
Blanket of night tucked away for the day
I bound along with sweet praise on my lips
and the succulent bliss of their lingering kiss –
so fragrant with wild lily memories.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s