~morning (glory) meditation~

July 26th, 2015

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Recently I told a friend that I don’t meditate and the following morning found myself, coffee and camera in hand, in the same spot I’ve stood each morning since planting these.

That constitutes my kind of meditation–singular, steady focus on an ever-changing tempest in a teacup, inspiring thoughts of Life’s restless energy, the fleetingness of Beauty and the dance–as in the Edwardian erotica motif of luscious young ladies canoodling with skeletons–of Beauty and Death.

The blossoms open with the sun and begin to die by 9 or so, and in between are harassed by me and insatiable bees (and occasional mourning dove).

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canoodling

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