White Flowers (audio poem, photos, & music)

"White Flowers" by Mary Oliver, reading by Michele Lee White Flowers by Mary Oliver Last night in the fields I lay down in the darkness to think about death, but instead I fell asleep, as if in a vast and sloping room filled with those white flowers that open all summer, sticky and untidy, in …

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Dancing with Dragonflies

Seeing the perfection of colors blended from earth and sky Hearing the crunch underneath a different song Smelling the sweetness of plants I cannot name Touching the truth of beauty grown not made Tasting the sensation of joy touch my lips Feeling the fabric of separateness begin to tear Releasing the need to need anything …

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Easter Eggs and a Glossy Train (personal narrative)

Easter brings an early sunrise, reflection, time outdoors, and dinner with my family. Sometimes we place flowers at the cemetery and sometimes I get to hug two adorable great nieces. Even more rare are drives to the Pacific Coast during the Easter weekend. However the holiday weekend unfolds, it is peaceful. Easter hasn't always been …

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Walk with me

Take my hand and walk with me along this path of uncertainty. You will point at the spikey thorns and remind me to watch my step. I will point at the sky and together we will linger on a hawk, free falling. We will witness majestic wings spread, effortlessly riding the winds. Silently, we will …

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Cactus Tops and Teardrops

The old man with a rod in his hand, listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival, watched her walk by. Someone to fill his eyes and his time. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Living an afternoon dream. A life his own. No one, but himself, to please. He’s not lonely. He can talk to the fish …

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Desert Blooms

An office with a window view has been transformed into a garden, thanks to you. Spring has ushered in a month of sharing what Divinity has so graciously given. Colors and fragrance burst from my screen, flooding my senses and drawing me in. I pause, I gaze, I smile, I breathe. I pluck one from …

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Connected Roots

Golden petals burst from a winding stem, sprang forth from a seed, that wound its way into dry desert dirt. Planted in soil, not of its native origin. Reflective tears burst from the one standing in Sonoran dirt, flowing from a realization, that they are similar, she and the foreign bloom. Rooted in soil, not …

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