coneflower

In the window

above my kitchen sink,

one golden bloom rises on a

toothpick-thin stem

in a tiny pottery vase.

A black-eyed Susan.

I lean closer,

admire her petals,

her dark brown center.

It’s like looking into the smile of God.

Outdoors, pink coneflowers sway

beside magenta coleus leaves

blanket-stitched along the edges

in bright yellow-green.

The smile of God.

Yellow gazania bloom bright,

happily resilient in the heat.

Red-purple impatiens overspread their pot,

preferring the shade.

The smile of God.

I also know the tears of God.

Anyone with eyes to see

and an open heart

feels the sadness,

knows the tears.

So many.

Too many.

That’s why I need my garden—

gazania and impatiens,

cornflower and coleus,

black-eyed Susans.

They remind me

that God does smile.

They give me hope

that we, too—

all shapes, colors, and

types of us—

can flower and flourish

in beauty and peace.

If only we will.

We, too, can be the smile of God.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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“The art of art,

the glory of expression…

is simplicity.”

– Walt Whitman –

It’s the simple things that nourish me. My grandson’s smile. The laughter of friends. A pepper turning red on the vine. The dance of leaves in a breeze on a hot day. The sun shining red through a broad canna leaf. The scent of citronella leaves at the back door. The prickly center of a coneflower. Smooth, sweet coconut yogurt. The chirring of a wren as it guards its nest box. Simple, sacred gifts, each a wonder of art and glory, each an invitation to joy and peace.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week: