Beaming

The front door shuts,  
with a bit of a struggle, 
and as plastic wrapping chatters,  
I can hear that his hands are full. 

A sweet smile, 
with a gentle grasp, 
unveiling a secret surprise—
holding a tidy bouquet bursting with tiny white flowers. 

My eyes arch and dimples appear; 
I rush to embrace my husband—
throwing my arms around his shoulders. 

The occasion of introspection, 
translating emotion embodied through the pure white petals,
and the crisp chrysanthemum buds. 
They collect together in unison, 
bundled into the vibrant stalk with the outstretched leaves. 

I shed the plastic wrapping, 
and grab a mason jar from the cabinet,
filling it with a rush of clear water for the stems to soak within.

As I awaken this morning, 
I’m met with the delicate floral fragrance.  
I cherish these moments—
blooming and beaming,
and swell with admiration for my honey-sweet husband.

Needle & Thread

The magnificent blanket, 
delicately draped upon the shoulders of the girl, 
with the long brown hair and broken insides. 

It is threaded with compassionate comfort, 
carefully woven together with relief.

As she sits within the silence, 
wrapping her in warmth,  
it allows her a moment to rest. 

Offering an opportunity of recovery, 
reformation and revival. 

I am not the blanket, but I was that girl once.  
And now I can only hope to be the spool, 
and the needle which threaded it together.

When We Begin

The favorable conditions become tasteless, as the repetition of these conditions persist. Progressing through the day-to-day, the minor flaws become overwhelming and all-consuming. Devoured by the dismay of the minor deficiency, we become delicate and fragile. We shatter from the smallest imperfection. Calloused to appreciation and disregarding the positive, we become absorbed in this exaggeration of slight discomfort.

But then tragedy awakens.

Stunned and taken completely off guard, we feel as if we are raising our foot as the soggy ground grasps at the ankle. We remember our previous problems and admire them; we wish they could be so trivial once again. Amidst the trials, when we are at the most vulnerable state the self portrays the truth of ourselves. We begin to despise our former selves, wishing we had noticed how the sun shined upon our face. We wish that we would have basked in it’s rays rather than shading ourselves. To go back and to become thankful for everything we possessed—whether it was the company who entered our home, or the time we had to spend. We begin to realize that the tragedy we are currently facing is another’s individual’s dream—that to them, these woes seem miniscule. We begin to notice the positive. Every small feat becomes miraculous.

This is when we begin. This is when we take hold of our situations and view it through a positive light, admiring anything admirable—appreciating the very breath which is exhaled, and the precious oxygen we inhale. This is when we decide to live in the present—expecting nothing, but when provision is granted to us, it has been unthinkable and is remarkable. This is when regardless of our current standings, we value everything. This is when the negative becomes unnoticed and now we stand overwhelmed with favor. We pass through snow, and grind through grass and every provision becomes monument.