Odilon Redon, Beatrice
Her garden lives in ifs,
it is sweet pink whispers
beating away the black.
Music mists a symphony of the sea,
licking rocks
to soar and spray in the wind,
dream shadows play
beneath a honeyed moon,
and the sky smells of summer rain.
So, she watches there–
not asking why–
in timeless beauty of when-after,
and she sings through rose petal-light,
of blood, life, love, and life.
I needed this bit of surrealism. The Oracle always knows. I think this could be where she lives.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
Beautiful
Thank you so much, Beth!
This is so strange (or not) but we do have the same images same words, yours giving a gentler message. How does she do it?
It is a mystery. 🙂
A mystery I’m happy with 🙂
Yes, I am, too. 🙂
🙂
This was delicious!
Thank you! 🙂
Lovely Merril…I your opening line. Happy Saturday!
I love your opening line. 🙂
Thank you very much, Jill. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. 🙂
limpid language, Merril
Thank you, Derrick. 🙂
Yes, that opening line: “Her garden lives in ifs” That has a hopeful feel for me, to be sure. “If” can always be something positive. I hope your “ifs” are things to look forward to 🙂
Thank you, Marie. I hope so, too. 🙂
I adore this one, Merril.
I think I needed a bit of surrealism, too!
Thank you very much! 🙂
Surreal or not, we can dream, and hope better for all of us.
Yes, indeed. Thanks, Ken.
This sounds like where my hummingbird lives too. (K)
I imagine there are many birds, humming and others, that fly about the Oracle.
An infinite number.
Yes, you’re right. There must be.