Pomegranate

Perhaps the world is already ready and willing to give you anything. Today grass ignites on the hillside in a roaring spring fire – with green the color of its flame. Blue bird, song sparrow and redwing shout silvery glees to moist fields and meadows as shrubs and saplings, appearing dead from root to twining vine, push forth buds once again to eternity. A fresh wind slides eastward over the surface of all that is awakened, until it reaches the living surface beyond. 

Maybe just as it is glorious to behold a ribbon of water sparkling in the sun, or the bare face of a pond with the joy of fishes within, there is much to accomplish today. Knife in hand, you wonder how to best penetrate the hard outer shell of the fruit to get to the goodness inside. To begin, remove the flower from the top and cut at an angle. Once split open, be prepared for the one big, sweet juicy mess of all the jewels of the world to tumble out.

Place (flowering)

Perhaps I wandered into a place that pretended to be as carefully mapped as a labyrinth, with an outer edge but no center. So much was happening, and I was too alert and alive to keep a single focus: dark-colored spores and fungus threads catching rides on the backs of mites; young box turtles sifting through layers of dead leaves while on the hunt. Here, trees were so much more than roots and branches, and big bouquets of showy flowers roped by sprays of nectar drenched me with splashes of scent and sweetness. Limb to limb I climbed upward until my arms ached. It grew dark. To my astonishment I fell asleep. When I woke at dawn I was happy to see I was still surrounded by trees, up where the flowers are.

Maybe as I doze in the high canopy, butterfly wings brushing colorful petals carry pollen aloft. A group of birds steadily gathers beneath me, sifting the soil with their beaks, searching for more than just seeds. In the center of older trees a dark aromatic wood is steadily forming, bringing with it a pithy maturity and heart. Buzzards drift above in lofty airborne circles, illuminating the way to all who feel hopeless, orphaned, abandoned or invisible to themselves.