I stand and wonder. . . Who you are?
Who is it, that stands
In the presence of my words
. . . in what I seem to interpret 
My own particular surroundings?

Look, over there. . . on the other side of the lake, across. . .
Where reflections are left from the overhanging shadings of a seasoned Willow
Gaze. . . up. . .  into the bluing sky, afore your eyes. . . fixing them
On how a bud forms on the Flowering Maple
And, speak of the Confederate Rose and ask me why it changes colors within a given day. . .

Watch when the next leaf falls, listening to the silence. . . in its descending
Release!. . . and feel for the Earth!
The earth is our hands. The sky, our thoughts
And with every sound our beating heart’s , in unison, a voice. . .
Triggered by a human soul within a world of uttering abatements!

This rose opens white. . . by midday she is pink! Night comes and she shrivels into a deep magenta. . bleeding.... and by the third day she is gone!

Into a state of, have mercy on me. . .
I did my best to exasperate you when I was at the purest of white, newest in my own particular surroundings and unbeknown to any Being!
Where were you when you left me to bloom. . . mostly alone...?
And the times, when I was pinking at His presence when you skipped me by...?

I, in my darkest of mauve’s, when I am finished here, will have glorified mostly grasshoppers and butterflies of flitting golds, but. . . upon their wings
I happily have spread my seeds in hopes, one day I will be awed for what I could of done for you! Banded together, I am, we are. . . still a rose, my friend.
The wind is the Love!

Along the banks of the slow moving rivers, the lake is its end. . .
Reflect on that a moment. . .
Imagining it’s beginnings, when the rains came
And the lakes overflowed with raging rivers forming. . .
Newer Winter’s...when the Spring’s returned and Summer’s shined so high above!

Yea!. . For the Son is our Savior! His warmth, our existence
And this Fall?. . . A Confederate Rose blooms in the South, in my own backyard. . . just for me!
I see her now, and I appreciate her more for what she can do. . .
And, I appreciate, You!

On the third day, He Rose again. . .

Kimmy Van Kooten
Copyright 2009