Petals jumped out at me today. On my table was a compact pile of rose petals from the arrangement for June first. Outside my garden fence, withered peonies are strewn on the grass and under the catalpa tree a random pattern of blossoms carpet the wet path. I'm still not clear what the day's message was, but I did come clean to my neighbor that I stole a few of his late blooming peonies.
The things we look at keep changing:
one day's sun or another day's rain; early poppies
one day, late tomatoes another.
each day was trying to say something,
with a voice that isn't coming from any throat.
--Rick Barot, closing lines to Tacoma Lyric, diode (vol. 5, no.1, Fall 2011)