Innerdialects

Laesa has eyes ripe as stars in the velvet sky at midnight. She is this beauty in my sill- crushed a little, worn, drying out the chill before dawn

Lasea (my flowers) cannot hear unless we speak out loud, and I’m talking of external words.

What Laesa hears, for real, are the things humans speak when they’re not hiding their words, she hears inside the heart. She hears what breaks us, her eyes make me see things. It is her gift. The gift of nature’s reminders.

She sees November walk in and pouts if I do not respond to the sun with her,

that is what the Light does to her petals. It blossoms her. Look at the light, see Its acres slant in my shutter. Look at the deep dawn, waiting beyond red sunset,

this is how winter begins for us equatorials. Laesa is a gift to the earth, my earth. She is that threshold between soil and air. She makes one inhale her oxygen; and know we are not random objects like grass, or static months.

These next 30 days will change me in ways I cannot see from here, but it will happen:

if I allow November’s Creator to Re-create me, no matter if I’m cut from root, here I find new identity:

me, us, you – extraordinary, created for purpose, there is no time waiting to waste. I’m a Bouquet too, a collection of fragrance even when crushed, especially there. And that awareness, that reminder, heals me.

🍃

Father Gardener,

Pl dont let these next 30 days pass without Your sacred Touch. Surprise me as only You can. May I too, serve as a bouquet at Your Window , looking out at an earth – asking for healing