A Confession

An old voice surfaced.

The voice that whispers, 

"I wish you were more beautiful." 

This voice has grown kinder, 

a little less frequent

and maybe even quieter, 

but it still exists 

in the archives, 

seemingly intent 

 on embarrassing me.      

  

This week I decided 

"That's it.  No more flowers.

I have nothing more to say;

I have photographed flowers 

(although it really is not 

flowers I am seeing  

but more on that later) 

for years."  

  

Yet, the beloved dog and I 

started out today  

and made it not quite  

a block and then 

I remembered the wisteria.  

"Well, maybe one photograph."

The first steps of a beauty 

filled walk.     

 

I then remembered 

a dinner last week 

with friends; 

we discussed 

beauty but could not define it.

We laughed deeply at our  

non-conclusion conclusion. 

 I was reminded  

how much I love those gathered at the table. 

  

So perhaps this old voice 

that does grow gentler 

over time 

encourages me to remember 

that where beauty reveals 

her showy head,

 love is there, 

and that maybe, 

like God and Jesus and Mary, 

 I can claim her as my own.  

      

 

say 

April 2019