The Zinnia Princess

 

                                                           

Creamy, tender skin is iridescent in morning light, plumped with life, like it's been filled to its capacity with the morning dew. It is the small hand of the Zinnia Princess, and she is out in her garden again. She points a decisive finger at her first choice, a voluptuous, hot pink bloom.

“Wower”, she aptly calls it. I, and all the others in the garden are hushed and stunned by this unexpected declaration. A light breeze jiggles the stems of the congregation and gives the flowers a responsive shutter as they receive the honor of their new name; “Wower”, indeed.

She reaches forward, clutching a chosen stem and I, her most humble servant, cut it loose from the plant with my pruning shears. She reaches again to fill her other hand; there is more than enough. She picks a coral pink this time, the perfect complement, a brilliant choice. The faint rippling of applause from the rosemary bush looses its fragrance with the sudden enthusiasm, and the aroma wafts into the air. 

 I carry her around the south side where a red zinnia wower blooms scantily along the picket fence painted a cedar color. Only three red blooms today. She will not pick any of these.

I, toting the princess on my hip, step over the stone border and enter the garden. I sit the princess down atop the mulch-covered ground and she drops her stems while reaching her hands up to hold mine. She disappears between the tomato and the okra, needing some assistance she is generously willing to take me along with her. It is a morning immersion, and she invites me along into her exploration. She is young-wise and I can easily see she feels there is much here to discover. I am intrigued. 

Her pause pales the importance of the ticking time in my head and the rush to get off into the business of the day. Her slow and purposeful gaze into tomato tangles is unique in these parts and I think I must imitate her if I possibly can. 

I glance down into the glossy pools of her dark eyes and find the stirring waters there.  Now I realize I had at some point wandered away in pursuit of something else less worthy and less wonderful. My heart lurches as two tears break free to race down my cheeks, and I feel the familiar, subtle stir in me once again. Wisdom hushes me, shutting me up to hear.  If I am willing, it will open me to see and to learn with this Zinnia Princess, Princess of the Wowers. Like the Pool of Bethesda where the wounded and ailing rushed to moving waters for healing, she is sensitive to the effervescence all around us. She has just recently arrived from God's heart, and the glinting of His kingdom is still upon her though she is unaware. So, she has come to preside over this garden, insistent in its mystery, and with an infant's watchful eye.        

Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.

 I slow myself and I follow her gaze flower to flower, and it becomes obvious to me why she has innocently insisted on a more expressive name, calling sorry eyes back to the WOW in a zinnia again. This is a most appropriate and sensible response in a dulled world, dutifully looking into the small boxes ever in our hands. She leans a soft nose straight into the brilliant color and sniffs it, pulling the subtle scent wildly into herself, and blowing it rapidly out, almost violently she breaths the scent in and out then turning her attention towards me, she points the pollen covered stamen at my face and demands I do the same. So, I do. And so, I yet will.  

Except you become like a little child...

I am Distilled

 

I drove between water because smart and skilled men made a levee and poured a road out on top. The sun showed through a sky stuffed with gray clouds and hit the lake tinseling the water and making me cry. The Lord touched my eyes with tinsel on water and gave me the word to tell it today. He touches my heart with tinsel and water, and my life is a wonder. I am distilled in tinseled water, in the plucks of guitar strings and simpler things. I’m distilled in the wisps of wind and warmth of sun and those little paddle-footed-waddlers quacking along a grassy path. I’m preserved in moonshine and fair things. I am clarified in laughter, in the eyes of a caring friend, in voices and cat purrs, in walks on fallen leaves, and thoughts of higher things. I’m distilled under warm covers and preserved in gratefulness. I’m purified in sun rays and sprinkling rain and baskets full of adjectives for what I see. I’m refined in vanilla peaches and love, in prayers at the table and on my soft couch. My shelf life has no care for I’m distilled in eternity. 

December 19, 2023

Rhonda Gunn

Come Let Us Reason Together

“Come let us reason together”, says the Lord. ”Though your sins be as scarlet, they will be white as snow.” Isaiah 1:18

Snow covered the yard and wind was relentless for days.  Nevertheless, snow is exciting, and tucks one into a cozy frame of mind, removing a myriad of options from a day off.  In the quiet house clocks tic toc the time, the faucet is dripping away to protect the pipes from freezing, and cars ease by on a snow covered 3^rd. 

I sliced a box of plump little multicolored tomatoes and slid trays full into the dehydrator, but not before saving some of the seeds. I covered the seeds lightly in a little box of soil and put them near a window.  Seeds have come up with no care at all in past compost piles and random spots in the yard and garden, so maybe these seeds will find their way to germination too. They will help with the wait for spring either way.  😊

I often dream of what I could accomplish if I had a string of days like this.  I imagine all the reading I would do, the notes I would take, the food I would fix and the plans I would make and accomplish.  Then a day comes when downy snowflakes fall from the sky and into my lap is a snow day.

And it has happened again, weather that says, “Just cozy up inside. There’s nothing for you out here. The view out the window is best.” Rain fell in the night and giant trucks slid over yonder, off the interstate pavement into the trees and up banks of icy ground. Ice is nearly non-negotiable and it’s not wise to try, but oh, how we try anyway.

Black birds visited the yard in a throng, pecking the ground looking like digital creations. Maybe they are searching for pieces of pecans discarded by gluttonous squirrels. They all rose and filled the hickory tree, filling in the gaps left by fallen leaves, but only for a moment before moving like a black cloud across the lawn to the pecan tree, then to the ground again before flying away to who knows where. I watched them from my second story window snapping pictures.

“Come let us reason together.“ 

I slice the tomatoes and dry them for a day. How different they taste when not carried in a splash of water, how chewy and sweet. In my excitement I held one finished piece in the light of my window before eating it. The winter storm had changed my dead yard to a glamorous, all white stage where the tomato became a marvel before it. As if before a spotlight now, I saw the seeds exposed in their deep and secret place suspended in time, an intimate peek into a scarlet explosion in the heart of the fruit, like little, fat exclamation points, like rambunctious, young sperm in pursuit of the egg. I’m shy at the sight of it. If they had a voice I’d hear shouts of joy and the whisper of…  

“Come let us reason”.

It’s been days still simmered on this theme, these thoughts pulled apart. I started an ancient practice in a jar on my kitchen counter, fermenting milk. It is silky and white and tart from growing bacteria that is good for me. Then I dried pounds and pounds of strawberries into sweet, red chips. Yesterday, I put them all in a plastic bag and felt so pleased with this work. The whites and the reds glaring again. A simple, messy life, tucked in a measly river valley town has things yet to say. Important lines to repeat out loud in my own simple way.

“Come let us reason“

There is nothing more or less going on in this life long mess of discarded strawberry tops and the feelings and experiences. It is all a boiled down in a line from Isaiah, older than the kefir grains preserving the milk on the counter. It’s older than time. It is of the foundation and that’s as solid as it gets.

“Come let us reason.”

It’s not “Just do what I say!” It isn’t, “Blindly follow me.” It isn’t, “Let me take you, use you, control you.” It is higher and bigger and breathtaking.

“Come let us reason.”

Engage the matter of your life and your outcomes with the outcomes of truth. Reason, dissect, use your intellect. God has nothing to hide. 

May

May I sit with you for but a few more hours and bless you for being you? May I smell your blooming flowers and watch your mulberries ripen soon? May I brag about the roses that choose your welcome to open wide? And may I bring you this offering, this feeling? I will try.

Your days grow sweetly longer, your showers come to find the soil that needs more water, the flowers and the vines. I breath you in to savor. I drink you in my thirst. I bless you in your breezes, I marvel at your worth!

The purest smell of privet, the dandelion blooms, daylily and magnolia all draw me from my room. I'll plant a little garden when I find a piece of ground, an orchard and a vineyard 'cause you'll be back real soon.

You are my shining favorite. I don't wish for you to go. Can't we just start all over? -- May 1st, I love you so. Your days passed by too quickly, your benefits astound and I am left to linger till you circle back around.

Every Day...

Early in the morning, I gathered a basket of autumn up for inside the house.  Why should all of the free, fall decor be crunching under my boots? 



I loved them in the window.  My own little oak tree display. 

And I figured that since I did get up this morning, and since I had yet another full day with which to fill up, I may as well be intentional about the good parts, so I made a mental list.  I called it, 

"Things That Should be Done Everyday, if You are Me:

             1.  I should do something beautiful every day.  (leaves hanging in window)   2.  I should take time for a few photos.(...because that's just fun)

                  3.  Everyday, I will eat something from the garden, even if it is just a snippet.  

(.....because that's just exciting and, yes, plants grow there in December)  4.  Every day, I should spend a moment on creative ideas, whether planning or doing because that feels like living. (baking bread, arranging a vase with flowers or greenery, sketching or writing, or whatever)  5. Everyday, there is time for a walk. (walks are the best) 6. And last, but most exciting part that makes any day marvelous and must never be missed or else a desperate dullness will ensue over your day---at least I'm sure that is what would happen to mine;  I will visit that "Dreamy place that is ours and God's together". No day can measure up to much without Him being all rolled up in it! 

Not sure what this is, but it is hot and tastes like horse rashish! 

 And every day, I will treasure love in my heart. 

Today, I found a little blue card in some old things.  Inside it said, "I love you, Rosebud. Love, Mom."  My heart melted onto the floor and the card was promptly placed in the window where I can see it now, every day.   I, so, treasure the love.

Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.

All the best things seem to me to be the simplest things.

Thanks, Poppa (God), I love (heart) You, too.