Beneath the pear tree, are where

photo credit: Jos Van Riswick

I had nothing enlightened before clearing beneath the pear tree, only, it’s February, and, I want cut flowers by July.

At the time, I didn’t know what moved me, except a craving for beauty, so that I would keep burning, much like a wicker dipped in layers upon layers of beeswax.

So I pulled the weeds that were greedy for space, the field marigold, and the weeds that were needy to stay, dock and devil’s grass, right down to the leaf litter.

I tucked the seeds into soil where armadillidiidae scuttle, where the centipedes and beetles are where the jellied fruits sit on a fast track to becoming dirt are where

The feathers and foliage pause, until time lends them useful above and below through a process known as decomposition, wherein a fraction of this seed will make

Perfect, velveteen panicles beneath a weight bearing pear tree in the full swing of summer. Noticing whatever you touch is a donation to your own life.

Everything within grasp, lovely or otherwise, deserves a lucky me, to be filled up by the sight of you. Take apart any composition and gape at the unenlightened chores

Which lift us into the making of magic.