Under the eightfold sky of blue

Sometimes you wake up and everything is just fine and the sky is blue and all the problems are outside somewhere of the garden where all is well...

Saturday the 9th. This is the gist of this place coming off of the sea like reflections of seeming all improbable in the perfect secret. Makes no difference the slow life in my happy place to dance in the invisible wind, but let’s dance, can you smell the music? It comes imbibed with the faint herring of gulls chasing the invisible wind and the lazybones shout from the bed of ants beside the windy distant river of memory. If you can’t dance follow the footprints written on the sand before the tide washes them away.

Written on the rock of all that's past to call my name…I am awake now and remember you...? A yard down the stairs to fall up a pretty face to smile this then tomorrow’s poem written today.
And not the spider its sacrilegious cry nor the moon its jealous sky or the fabled story told a pretty face to smile, but if I saw this yesterday then today is here again to sing my song as I make my way into the garden.

The rain has stopped and the sun has come out. I prefer the rain, it sings to me, tells me secrets, as does the bird’s song that is answered from far away, and the trees that hold steady through it all.
Sometimes I find that how I feel is reflected in those ones that come close to me; I see that in them about me. It is nice when they reach out; and I see that when I reach out, if they don’t respond it is ok, same is in me.
Seems things go around in circles; and if you wait long enough it all comes around; but why there should be so many bad days I can't say, sometimes you just have to stop and think.
Still, today is not one of them...

In the garden where the morning comes lovely the sun dial hangs heavy with webs and the feeder is half empty by the squirrels. The early worm has been found and now it’s wash time in the bath and what a show it is: birds everywhere: blue tits, great tits, lesser tits and a red robin has crept in too, so cheeky and they all seem quite happy and why not, life is good this morning and it’s good to sing in the bath without a care in the world with everything provided.

A breeze blows through it all and promises more fun to come, the trees sway in agreement. The bubbling stream is happy too on its way to the sea.
A big crow up in the branches of a tall tree caws but dares not come closer, but no one pays it much attention. This is the garden of song and no one else is allowed under the eightfold sky of blue.

Images from Pixabay