Hand me that lavender, love. I want to hold its petals and bracts. I want to breathe in its delicious smell from my cupped hand and savor the moment that becomes suspended with its aroma.
Sleep sweetly, sleep soundly. Dream of lemon rinds and cloudless skies.
Do not find complaint, for this life is as the topsoil in a a farmer's hands, rich with decayed organisms and roots and life; his fingerprints become black and stained with velvet dirt that makes up the Earth's chewy crust. This life is rich. It is messy and dark, it is teaming with rot as it hosts the existence of multitudes.
This life is like the topsoil in a farmers hands, cradled, creviced, and completely dirty.
Rest now. Your lavender grew from this life. Every good thing does.
And it continues.
"Our pace took sudden awe" -Emily Dickinson
Important Things
It begins and ends with love.
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