Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Monday, August 10, 2015


I was waiting for the monarch Butterfly to open its wings for a photograph and I realized it wasn't that I was shooing it away it was timing. The wings opened on the count of three. Every three seconds I could take a picture of it. I always said that everything you needed to know a garden could teach. Life is timing. When we are born, when we die, who we meet , when we meet them. Like being in the right place at the right time or the opposite being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The heavens must have known our needs,
merging souls together is certainly to please.
Timing placed your heart here with mine,
soothing my spirit like my life infused in brine.

As confusing as it may all seem to be,
each moment is the tool that fate retrieves.
No matter where we go or what we do,
the script is drawn upon the heavens blue.

The concept of timing is surely not knew,
life has its numbers in all we do.
The ships that sail through a storm at sea
or the happiness that true love brings.

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