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by Orla Farrell

As though in me lay a bud waiting to open,
I want to nurture my becoming.
Tightly bound,
outer casing neatly holding the unfurled blossom of me.
Soft and packed petals
awaiting the warmth of spring.
Only then,
When storms have passed
and frozen ground is in thaw.
As darkness opens
to the new light arriving.
Yes, only then,
gently caressed by
warm kisses of a moist breeze
and soft droplets of spring showers.
Only then,
trusting warmth to safely nestle
this precious new flowering in
its gentle open palm.
In wonder and awe
I feast then,
on the delicate beauty of my very own expression.
As shyly,
it nudges its way into being again

Orla Farrell
In memory of K.A. – a beautiful expression of life, who lost her way.

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