I sit rusting, forgotten, among the fields, my final resting place of sunlight and blue sky. 

It pretends to be a flower but its many petals are hard and dark and scratch against my skin.  Its beauty, though, is undiminished. 

The light is blinding but it illuminates the path I must tread and so I trust in it. 

He resolutely blows, ignoring the wind or rain, producing eerie notes that fill the air. 

The chill mist settles delicately over us with feather touches that linger. 

Alone.  Alone.  Yet, underneath, its roots stretch out far away to touch the roots of others. 

The quiet antechambers below the majestic cathedral where prayers have soaked into the very stones for centuries.

Feel the new vigor running through the green veins-I’m alive-I’m alive-as the delicate pink petals unfurl languorously