Of white flowers and thunder...

I may not have hydrangeas like I used to in my southern garden any more, but this high desert garden of mine has its own king of magic, and is been gifting me with masses and masses of glorious pompom beauties otherwise.  

My heart is full with thankfulness and admiration, and I am at peace.

I think of mom every day, and every moment of my life I wish I could return to those days of yesterday and see her dancing again; hear her voice and feel her hands in mines again.  

I was pulling weeds in the garden this afternoon while admiring all the small and wonderful beauties I’m surrounded with… then, from some unknown distance, a rumbling sound of thunder I heard… I run inside looking for shelter, but the downpour, although abundant, was quickly, and my soul wouldn't stay still.  Outside birds were calling; white pompoms kept singing, and my little heart found itself being one with the birds and the glorious whites, and thus, soon I was out there again in the wet garden collecting beauties for the house. 

How long will they last?   I wish I could keep things I love forever; forever dance in the little things, forever be able to understand that those we love and lose are always connected by heartstrings into infinity...

In my solitude I ponder much on the incomprehensible subjects of eternity, life and death, and my garden is always the revelation of it all.  Everything is coming back to life, everything growing rampant and freely.  We were created to have eternal life. Death cannot stop life.  

“It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but retire a little from sight and afterwards return again." —Ralph Waldo Emerson.