Someone to watch over me

The purple bougainvillea is climbing the tree and then cascading down, its purple petals washing the sky, light flaming through them.  The playhouse is –now that the painting is completed–green and orange, nestling cottage like between the trees. The tea garden and the herb garden smell lemony and sweet. The oranges are all over the garden now. Blood oranges.

Some people will never forgive you.  Breathe.

The blood oranges make a good mimosa, the juice exploding from them, orange blood everywhere.

Some people will always need to punish. Breathe.

The Empress tree has huge leaves like hands. Through those hands, the oranges glow like liquid gold.

You can only say, “This was my intention.” You cannot speak to the intention of others.

The blood oranges are underfoot.

After you at least partially forgive yourself, you go on putting one foot in front of the other.

Still not quite over the jet lag. I sleep thickly and dream wildly. Of falling. Of flying very awkwardly.

But flying still. The purple petals pile around the blood oranges.  I am not alone. I have someone to watch over me.

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Published in: on April 23, 2016 at 9:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

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