Wild chicory leans toward the morning,
mirroring the heavens
as it sings a silent hymn to the sun.
The stately swaying of Queen Anne’s lace
marks a quiet country road.
And we wake, you and I, knowing they are there
beyond the silent walls.
We wake and the day begins;
you to your tasks, I to mine –
apart, yet one, my love.
Your tractor rumbles in the distance
like some benevolent behemoth
as I gather clothes filled with warm sunshine
from the springing wires.
The sweet faces of the chicory blossoms
peek out at me like mischievous children
from their unauthorized hideaway in the berry vines,
bidding me come look for treasure.
And I know, my love,
you too are surrounded by joy.
That the potpourri of summer fills your senses
with the intoxicating awareness of life.
The sun settles comfortably on the horizon,
touches our world with honey-colored splendor
and slips beneath the blanket of night.
The fringed faces of wild flowers
have closed gently with the fading day
and now fireflies gild the meadow with diamonds.
We sit at rest on the front porch.
We have no need to touch just now
for we are one in that deeper place
where our spirits dwell.
You sip your coffee and talk of everyday things.
I prop my bare feet on a chunk of wood
and listen to the rhythm of love
that runs like soft music through your words.
So much, my love,
we have been so richly blessed.
To know the quiet ease of heart,
this belonging of one to the other.
To know life’s storms may sweep away
or even destroy so much that is without.
But also to know that what we hold within
the circle of our love is inviolate.
As willow-soft as the chicory plant,
as regal as the Queen’s lace,
as enduring as the earth we love so much.
This is the love we share.
This is the world we touch.