The Lone Hyacinth

The lone hyacinth

Draws me

Its fragrance precedes

Eyes closed

I approach

The purple petaled glory

And kneel

Worshiping the sensual perfection

Of the spring bulb

That sprouts yearly

With no care or drama

Prone and tired

I lean in

Scraping the leaves and detritus away

To expose the brilliant green leaves

The flower’s entirety

Sheltered in this woodland altar

Ancient yet new

Renewed again and again

My breaths come slower

As I relax into the ground

Becoming stronger

Where I was weak

Gathering myself

On the forest floor

So I can continue

Soaking in the moment

Aware

I bow my head in reverence

Honoring that which I cannot understand

I slowly rise and brush myself off

Tangled in branches I set forth

Homeward

From afar

I can still smell the delicious perfume

Of the purple miracle

That feels like a sweet dream

Photo credit: Kristine Alessi