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...in the garden at St Ives. I was looking at the flower bed by the front door; “That is the whole”, I said. I was looking at a plant with a spread of leaves; and it seemed suddenly plain that the flower itself was a part of the earth; that a ring enclosed what was the flower; and that was the real flower; part earth; part flower.
~
Flowers are the music
of the ground
from earth’s lips spoken
without sound.
—Edwin Curran
~
On my desk, small pink roses. Strange how often the autumn roses look sad, fade quickly, frost-browned at the edges! But these are lovely, bright, singing pink. On the mantel, in the Japanese jar, two sprays of white lilies, recurved, maroon pollen on the stamens, and a branch of peony leaves turned a strange pinkish-brown. It is an elegant bouquet; shibui, the Japanese would call it. When I am alone the flowers are really seen; I can pay attention to them. They are felt as presences. Without them I would die. Why do I say that? Partly because they change before my eyes. They live and die in a few days; they keep me closely in touch with process, with growth, and also with dying. I am floated on their moments.
~
Nobody sees a flower, really. It is so small it takes time. We haven't time, and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
~
remembering those gone
thankful to be here—
pond of purple iris
—Margaret Chula
~
no flower can stay
yet humans grieve at dying—
the red peony
—Edith Shiffert
~
Flower,
chase the sunshine
Flower,
chase the sunshine
Flower
~
The earth laughs in flowers.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Poem: Flowers
Poem: Flowers
Poem: Hello, the Roses
Poem: Jack-in-the-Pulpit
Poem: Aware
Flower haiku
Cultivating Delight
The Light Eaters; interview
To See Takes Time
Orchid or dandelion?
Golden afternoon
The art of seeing
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