You take them out of the shrine and carry them away. Purpose in your steps, you leave them at the alter when you finally make it there. It was a long walk. A pilgrimage, you realize later. Rosebushes along the way to let you know you're still on track. As alone as you feel, you must believe that too is an illusion. Someone must have planted those roses.
You watched that alter, you held your breath. Unseen hands burned what was no longer needed and breathed life into what was left. Incense. Ritual older than this life.
You could smell the flowers before you could see them. Before you turned, seconds before you walked away. Lavender - oceans of it. Healing in waves, fields that bloom once a year and no more.
You watched that alter, you held your breath. Unseen hands burned what was no longer needed and breathed life into what was left. Incense. Ritual older than this life.
You could smell the flowers before you could see them. Before you turned, seconds before you walked away. Lavender - oceans of it. Healing in waves, fields that bloom once a year and no more.
2 comments:
Your blog writings are beautifully put.. Almost would say its poetry? Keep at it! I like your perspective on things.
Thank you Haley - some friends say prose-poetry but I don't know.
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