How could one one fail to be moved by this momentary reveal of grace.
This explosion of light, form and shade.
Once more the flower becomes the perfect expression of being.
No more nor less than the poetry of reproduction itself.
This aspect of Gaia and thus of the feminine is more sacred than any gilded Buddha or graven god.
It would be utterly transgressive to enter the temple of its being without first listening a deep and express consent.
All around the wild wind blows through the gnarled olives and towering ash.
And it seems as if the trees are standing guard over this beautiful meadow, ancient arboreal warriors watching closely the flowers below, held beneath their spreading boughs.
This honouring is the perfect balance of male and female and leads to ever greater abundance and allowing.
It is the natural way of life upon our small blue planet and a feral act of unconditional love.
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Photo courtesy of the author.