Bouquet of words!

They have wilted, dried out and died, like echoes of color, they mark the rain soaked pavements with a ravishing combination of pale green with a hint of earth red, deep yellow with ugly grey splotches, maroon brown drunk with wine and coffee.  Like a child often reprimanded for willfulness, I need to reign in those urges to squat on the still wet grass and handpick them to my heart's content. These fallen leaves!

After a long day of sharing and caring, I open the widow at night to stillness. A stillness that holds me in quiet so I can be my whole full self without doing. I follow the patterns of the bare branched trees, each ending in a stub, pale without dewdrops and bird songs and I know the winter will be long. Perhaps only to remind us, to sit by the warm umbers of dead fires, to observe with care only that which is close and nearby and put away for a while the blazing fires of a different season that seem to ignite the whole world and shine upon us with just as much splendor as anything else making us shiny and yet less unique. 

I feel this urge to mix colors and place them upon a still white canvas, with haste, without caring, colors next to colors until I have to the last of my ability captured each of my dreams and I know that maybe I have said just as much as I can probably communicate with words and colors. Too tired and sleepless, I slip into bed with hope for some sleep. 

In the morning the light is out and the bare branches are still staring out at the plain sky, the energy to mix colors has stayed through the night and is waiting for me to follow. But these words have to be marked down before they disappear, very much like the fall leaves that I hesitated picking up.  I wonder if happiness is as much made of make believe, as is sorrow?

I wonder again, why these grown up pockets are so very poor? Cleaning out the heavy winter jackets, I discover treasures in the pockets of my innocent children, treasures of quaint looking rock, bird feathers, candy wrappers, a few broken shells and a scrunched up note, a reminder to self, 'don't forget to watch the sky!’ a reminder that I remind them each morning only to forget it myself on a day filled with too much care. 

Yes, happiness can be found even when our hearts are broken, it can be found in the soft prayer whispered in silence for happiness, not your own but for another gentle soul!