Vines

A story ...


Vines winding their way up along the edge, 
rounding a corner and spreading their leaves 
until the front wall is splendid in dark green 
that makes love to the ancient stone.
The peace of movement and stillness, 
the joy of how opposites attract.


Once upon a time, 
the old castle facade was barren, 
constantly stripped of the yearning tendrils that 
sought to climb his walls and were instead 
kept to the base to gaze up in wonder 
at the hard surface, 
the multi-sized rocks placed one upon the other 
lending themselves to the protection of the fearful 
against marauding bands of humans 
bent on power and destruction. 
And when the people were done with their 
wars and desires for possession, 
the vines joyfully sought the cool stone edifice 
like a quilt finally able to 
cover and comfort and heal. 

Now, the vines paint their way upon the surface, 
scrolls of unwritten words 
yet the meaning of life is clear 
in the verdant swirls and sassy curls 
with slim fingers beckoning "here, this way." 
Tangle and twirl, 
a net of interwoven wonder that becomes a blanket of love.




A winsome feather drifts down from the blue 
and a tendril reaches out with tentative bend 
to grasp the softness, 
bringing it into the nook 
where the light bone and delicate quills 
decorate the vine 
with a touch of the flight of distant visions 
of peace upon the world. 
The ivory bit of wing 
a stark contrast among the green, 
singing still the song of the dove.


Days pass and all is quiescent 
until a gentle breeze carries 
a puff of milkweed's downy breath with seeds clinging, 
floating up and bobbing like it cannot make up its mind where to go. 
Another supple green finger beckons 
and the puff investigates, 
tossed nearer by a laughing sylph, 
and sighs in relief as it settles 
into a home among the vines 
that climb the sturdy walls 
of the abandoned abode 
of those who used to be 
but are no more confined 
by the walls they once hid behind 
in fear. 
The milkweed puff expands its chest in breathless delight 
and creates a vision of loveliness, 
for within a crack of the wall was soil built up over time 
and nourished by the cycling of vines living and dying, 
and a single seed had stuck its head 
into the richness to sleep and then the vines spread 
ever so slight and opened a window of sunlight 
upon the tiny space wherein the seed burst open in joy, 
split its sides in laughter, 
and up rose the stalk of empowerment 
upon which the purple buds emerged 
and then popped open with a delightful aroma 
that called the winged whispers of 
sienna and ebony satin poets-in-flight 
to drink and expand ... 
reproducing the sunset glow of themselves into the leaves.


The vines welcomed the stranger 
who stayed in their midst, 
closing around it gently at night 
and opening again for morning light, 
with pride and devotion the vines caressed the cocoon, 
lullabies of the song from the immaculate plume nearby 
were carried into the sacred space of renewal and transformation. 
And when the time was 
... just so ... 
the vines provided a ledge upon which 
the newly created being could drop and dry 
and flutter away to spread the good news of life 
and love in a new day, a new world.


The milkweed's purpose complete, 
it sighed and fell into a deep sleep 
leaving its body safely withering into the 
faith of future generations 
for before it sighed, 
it too would provide 
a seed pod from the blossoming of renewal, 
an offering of self-less creation for those who may have need. 


In the distance, 
a lone dove, 
her purity a beacon, 
glided in close and 
paused upon the green finger 
offered in peace, 
and plucked some downy delight with seed attached 
into her beak, 
and, nodding in gratitude, 
flew into the orange half-globe of a new day.

The vines wriggled and giggled in glee, 
and the stone face cracked a smile in contentment,
creating a broad line 
and stretching the vines 
with encouragement toward growth and 
with deeply felt gratitude for communion.
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As I settled to write this morning, I paused as usual, closing my eyes for a moment, and the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was the design painted upon the cabinet across from my chair. From those images emerged the above story. What fun! I love how unexpected story flows from an image we've seen a thousand times.