Quiet Benediction

spring blesses with scent a mind encased in February’s mummy-swathe. I drop my rags of winter stretch out on the warmed porch thought steps lightly on to a carpet, woven of mist and aromatic perfumes, which glides silently into reverie and settles in a hollow under... an ancient white lilac covered in ghost flowers. blooms plucked and heaped on blue willow china plates. lunch for porcelain dolls whose painted smiles never grimace no matter what they are offered; fat bears will eat anything. Debby from down the street is busy disciplining her children (“sit straight, eat your spinach”), baby Tweedy (“watch your sister”) tries to catch bugs and eat them. deep blue lilacs, colour of distant mountains ever just beyond reach like youth once passed. flowers liberated from a neighbours yard ends torn in the haste of stealth gather together in a tall green glass vase; a love note hidden among the stems. words scribbled in passion’s indelible ink left secretly pleading fair maid’s kind condescension. french lilacs red as wine sipped on the swing. scent falls, its ethereal sweetness drapes about shoulders silken as the touch of fingers that slip down her arms. cat’s eyes among the leaves glow emerald peer with curiosity at June beetles. tree frog love song’s, in soprano underscores the big band station turned low. if he could see the lilac now, heavy with life red as the drops blooming on the sands of Juno beach. lavender lilacs rippled by a breeze drape over the veranda to create a bower; secreted from human traffic nana rests. she is so much like her favourite flowers pale, delicate with a fine tracery of veins beneath the paper thin skin of her hands. mauve in the soft light, I watch, in silence, fascinated as her eyelids move “What are you watching”, I whisper trying not to wake her but hoping she will answer from wherever she is and her voice floats to me “I am visiting with all of my loves” .