Wildflower Bouquet
By Bethany Peck
Delicate blue flowers
blanket the forest floor.
These bells of beauty
brighten every turn of the trail,
filling my heart with wonder
as I slowly,
meander,
listening for every bird that calls,
noticing each stately tree.
Soaking up these woods,
the places,
I have come back home to.
Broken heart in hand,
I return.
Memories of the little girl I once was,
frolicking here,
innocent as a quiet stream,
safe with a parent’s watching eye,
float in my thoughts.
She is me and I am not her,
anymore.
I am more than her,
now.
The girl within,
sheltered in a
long-suffering soul.
So I walk along these streams,
delighted,
by spring ephemerals
sprinkled delicately,
with gladness,
bringing together a bouquet,
of the simplest of flowers,
unkempt yet happy,
a gift to offer myself.
I float in a summer creek,
reconnected,
with my body.
Skin, seared by July’s sun,
cooled by the hug of the water;
finding safety,
in the suspension
as I learn to trust
what I can feel again.
I gather autumn’s fallen leaves
comforted,
by the palette,
of warm, golden colors.
Along with sticks and acorns,
my collection overflows,
out of pockets and purses,
treasures to take with me,
creativity coming to life.
I sit by the bay,
calmed,
by the peace,
crisp and clear in winter’s bleakness.
Stunned by sunsets,
that paint the sky,
as beauty that blows me away,
unlocks imagination,
dreams taking seed.
These natural places,
that nurtured as a spring bud,
have welcomed me home.
Beautiful familiarity,
a safe haven,
allowing,
childlike wonder,
to grow again,
intertwined with
blossoming wisdom of
a woman’s soul,
sanctified by the storm.
Another seasons begins,
I keep walking my path,
the woods where I belong.
Waiting
with renewed spirit,
and hope in hand,
for full bloom,
flourishing;
life filled,
with beauty.