If I was a poet I would shower you with sonnets...
Sonnets about being bewitched by baubles of golden sap, and the scent of fresh buds. A scent like that of warm milk swirled with sugar and cinnamon...
If I was a poet, I would describe my pale winter skin and it's slow morph into a light sand glow, from extended moments right here...
I would describe the last 3 days I have spent solely in the garden.
How I have only been inside to sleep.
How I await the afternoon sunset glow with bursting anticipation, for that is the time when fairies and other winged creatures glitter in fading sun - if only for an ever so small window of time.
If I was a poet, words would slowly trickle out on to the page, like syrup...
They would tell of the droplets of water that hit the dry earth, creating a scent unlike any other in the world...
With the scent of water and earth becoming one, I see in my mind's eye, a ribbon holding a perfectly bundled parcel of memories untying and tumbling down ~ turning to dust as they hit the ground.
And for a mere moment, an abundance of childhood memories appear - spring time, laughing, running, splashing - freedom...
For 3 seconds and one blink of an eye, you are 11 again.
You can hear your Mom calling your name. You can smell the green scent of the grass being cut by your Dad.
You can hear the laughter of other little voices.
You remember how your 11 year old self looked towards the future at your current self.
You look up towards the light...
You close your eyes and feel yourself holding hands with that 11 year old self.
Nothing is as you expected it would be. Yet, everything is okay.
You scan your mind.
You recall how at age 17 you thought any age over 25 knew nothing. Now older, you look back with a curious smile and you giggle at the irony...
Because, it is with time that you learn.
And, it is with time that life gets better...
If I was a poet, I would express to you how being in the garden for 3 days, reminded me that you can't reach the stars, if you don't reach for the stars.
And that, reaching for the stars, is simply a metaphor....
Because reaching the stars is relative.
A sea of stars might live in simple words.
Words like, peace...
Love...
And life...
Nothing is how I expected it to be, and everything is perfect. Imperfections and all...
Also - Trisha Yearwood may have added a major highlight to it all, with this incredible "simple" recipe (click here for recipe ~ give it a few seconds to open). It is in the April 2010 issue of Country Living Magazine.
Mister Lovee left me a note on the recipe page... (I love his handwriting)
I used dark chocolate chips, and not very many, as I like things a bit less chocolatey...
Yumm is not a good enough word for this...
And with that, I say, Happy Bright New Week!
♥,V
See you super duper soon ;)
