I am not able to find words I want to share about the tulips in the yard today, this perfect tulip, perfectly pink. They are a song without words, a mute offering that speaks more clearly to the heart than all of speaking.
Which sounds like a line from Rilke. Which leads me to these lines from Rilke:
But listen to the breath the unbroken message that creates itself from the silence.
The tulips are a message, confided to the inner ear. The inner eye, if there is such a thing. They are a Friday poetry. A pause before the weekend rain. A breath before the next sentence picks up the conversation where, before the breathtaking pinkness of them, their pink quintessence, it left off.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Pink Tulip
.jpg)
why does the world not know about you?
ReplyDeleteor
maybe it does.
thank you.
You're so sweet, Tammy. You more than make up for the soul-destroying people at the office who want me to think I'm nothing, nothing they don't allow me to be. I must remember they are not the world I want to be in.
ReplyDeleteHappy Spring!