June
The sun is high and the day is long
A southern breeze rushes through pastures.
Tall grasses are spirited, shimmering in the shadow of drifting clouds,
Mellow meadows of future fodder sway to Summer’s song.
It’s a folk song, strummed and sung with flowers in your hair.
A song of freedom.
A song from the heart.
The daisy is derived from the Old English name for the common daisy,
the ‘day’s eye’…
Where the daisies open at dawn and close again with the setting of the sun,
A simple solstice lesson to open our hearts to source and surrender to the day.
The simplicity of their white ray florets plucked
in a romantic recital of ‘loves me, loves me not’.
The phrase you speak on picking off the last petal an affirmation,
a truth between you and the object of your affection.
A flower structured in a spiral,
governed by the golden ratio,
it struck me that perhaps nature’s disposition was in fact
to LOVE.
A divination for a nation,
The prettiest prayer.
I return to the field to laze in the gaze of the day’s eye,
to Summer’s song - the folk song - the protest song.
To be Nature.
To be Love.