On memory and summers and daisies

Much of my days
are made up of
memory

The garden
is unkempt
overgrown

Everything
is wet

It has been
raining

I don’t
remember
when it started

My days
are also
made of
no memory
of forgotten moments
of loss
of time
and sometimes
place

I have
a honeysuckle vine
growing up
a trellis
except
it has gone wild
and is growing out

It slaps
at my arm
and shoulder
when I walk past

Drops of water
land on my face

I remember
this is supposed
to annoy me

Instead
it reminds me
that I am alive
beginning
that slow passage
through a verdant
English summer

And I get lost
remembering
summers
and fall
into fields
of flowers
that aren’t there

I slip
over that
small line
that separates
memory
from experience
from what was
to what is
and can’t
help but wonder
if that line
exists at all

On some
plane of existence
I stretch my arms out
and listen
to the rhythmic
whispering
of daisies

2 May 2018

IMAG0454

Happiness, Aristotle and a Small Vase of Flowers

image
A Small Vase of Flowers ~ © Robin Dalton Photography

 

Happiness depends upon ourselves. ~ Aristotle