Buried treasures
sit tightly nestled
beneath my creative journal,
today,
I'll call it a tombstone.
My feathered quill
attempted a resurrection,
it scraped and plunged,
dug deep into
once-moist soil,
Yet found only dry thoughts.
Beautiful imagery
and eloquent verbiage
beseech my imagination
from another source.
Traveling forward
along my creative journey,
I know treasured truth
must be derived from Life.
Viewing a sunflower field
blanketed in gold,
I see a robed chorus,
faces turned upward
and arms reaching
toward a periwinkle sky.
Recalling days of yesteryear
when barefoot, I danced
in autumn's fragrant revelry,
carefully choosing
handfuls of weeds
to lovingly give
my momma.
Her thankful smile
taught me gratitude
for the simpler things,
calmer days and sincere love,
as she hummed choruses
and snapped linen on the line,
while summer closed her doors and
harvest sang a victory song.
Next time I feel the urge
to dig in clay soil,
instead, I'll stop and rest,
say a prayer of thanks
for buried memories
and watch with
anticipation's wonder.
A blessing has emerged today-
As I gave up the search
for hidden gold
opened the eyes of my heart
and found it was here
all along~
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