Brimming Baskets
May 17, 2005
The quiet that comes from picking small white flowers scattered like fallen stars in the dawnwet grass. Deep orange stalks- to touch one too roughly is to break it. The heart of these flowers is a single point of saffron haloed with a thin circle of yellow gold. When you shake the tree gently- affectionately, the way you would a young, rascally cousin these flowers come raining down a sweet shower from the skies to join the blossoms already on the ground. To pick them up brings your face and your fingers close to the earth. There is a rhythm that enters your movements as you bend and crouch and straighten, bend, crouch, straighten again, and again and as the fragrant pile in your basket grows you count them like blessings and counting lose count...for when it has rained the night before, as it did last night, the basket in the morning brims over...happiness is this.
