A garden is for thinking...

A dandelion seed isn't a seed

until it's color has withered away,

dried up by

that golden ball

hanging in a deep blue sea of sky...

a process of death to create new life

We came from dust of dirt and rib

broken

 and i wonder how

he formed us. How the moment looked

when God breathed into nostrils

and man became a living soul...

the light on it all, of it all.

The same light that still shines

through the trees and flirts

with pixels and kisses

freckles upon my daughters

lightly painted skin

We go through it all,

the motions of being born of dirt and rib

and the forbidden that they touched

and we were touched by their sin, a curse, so we sin and we feel our wrongs.

Sometimes I forget,

He died for those wrongs

We are pure as light, white as snow

Lately, I bury my nose in the bible

and I read from proverbs of women

who work with their hands and find delight

I look up to him and I pray ...

Begging for the delight to come,

begging to know Him more,

to feel him on my heart

and always hear when

He speaks.