The Intention

Brushing past the softness of red and pink fuchsia flowers
my fingers tingle with their petals' gentle feel.

The day is cloudy, quiet, cool under a sky filled with sleepy
grey-blue clouds, and a breeze that bounces off the whir of insects buzzing by.

All colours subdued, all sound muffled, even the roar of a jet overhead
I find myself looking for words that could easily be said, and understood.

Words of closure, and new beginnings, words that heal and bring a smile
and open doors, or at least a window or two.

But no words come, as the day goes by, and sunlight brings some warmth
to the silence all around me, and inside my heart that hums a lullaby.

How are you ? Oh, I am just fine. Nice day we're having, I know, it sure is nice,
as we plant flowers and water our yard, and laugh at the cat and dog chasing each
other around.

Words like musical notes just float right by, and bring a smile to our eyes
as we go about the day and its pleasant affairs, we blend into the rhythm of
things unsaid.

I love you, you love me, what more is there to know, as the rain adds its music
to our search for what it is we want to say, while we watch what remains unsaid
drift away like letters in the sand when the tide comes to shore.

Oh, it's all right, words they come and go, always changing, always the same,
like the wind and its directions, that keep us entertained,
the intention is there, and the silence remains, soft, simple
like footsteps on grass. It's OK.

Trudi Ralston.
June 27th, 2014.