I am thinking of the hummingbird
dipping into the flower,
dark orange petals
vibrating cups offering up
this sweetness.
I feel its hard heartbeat
and the hum of my own wings,
a motor
of lightness and choice.
And the stone
brushed smooth
against grains of its broken fellows,
glistening now wet and cool
as it tumbles
up and down, deeper in
and on the surface now,
at the edge of the wave,
sometimes settling on the solid shore
waiting to be regathered by ocean
breath.
The violets sturdy heads
in my garden, rising in the shade
proudly, brazenly,
light lavender frills surrounding
purple inner petals
lyrically reflecting the breeze
on such a thin and tender stalk.
I yearn to be with all of this,
to wonder and be affected,
so that I might open my own being
by living as unhidden
as I dare,
and possible be remembered
when one is thinking
about compassion.
(Melissa Fritchle, 2020)