Rhododendron Flowers
My heart falls into darkness amongst the sleeping rhododendron flowers spread upon the forest floor. Here the fairies fly freely and delight in joy at the gifts of the new moon. Tears spinning beyond repair until breath itself is found to be nothing more than a glimmer of moonlight. The wind beckons to find a home along the river edge as sparkles of hope dash downstream into forevermore. The path is windy and uphill and slippery with mud and crushed dandelions. How can something so beautiful and magnificent be the bearer of such diminishing returns of truth and disparity? I asked for this. I paid the piper. I sit challenged again and again and yet my unwavering response is always the same. No, I will not bend to the servitude of imbalance, nor will I delight in the overwhelm of decision or the grief of remembrance. Is there another such that I can understand and have mirrored back to me why this way is not documented to be read to c...