Delicate white flowers grow along the bike path under a slice of blue and cloudless sky. I will take a bit of this wildness home and plant it in my back yard, to tame my tendency to salve my wants, my everpresent search for the Everything–nay the One Thing I seek–with dollars and cents.

Dissatisfactions stirred like a pitcher of lemonade swirled with a long whirling spoon, a plastic red ball on top like a maraschino cherry.


I find I am in a flurry, rushing here and there, going nowhere, chasing myself about until I’ve forgotten the purpose and the meaning.

Each of us in quest of the same thing clothed in various costume: To love and be loved in spite of everything. To have the courage to stand where we are and take a chance and bloom, exposing our full faces to the world.


My white magnolia blooms cup the snow,
unexpected and cruel,
destroying the blossoms I’ve waited all year to see.


I walk down the muddy stream bank,
dip my toe into the bracken water.
But the day is fine and clear and I
scramble up the other side and continue towards campus

where a boy in rust-colored pants and
bright red tennis shoes carries an overstuffed
backpack and a cardboard coffee cup.

Magnolia blossoms weep snowmelt.
Fragile petals glisten in the sunshine and I can’t
stop thinking
how beautiful life is.


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