Strangely wonderful, all the pieces place themselves precisely where intended,
Like warm gloves on a cold winter’s day.
Some of the same color, yet different in tone,
Reflecting light in a peculiar and unique way,
Making the picture of my journey complete.

These are not static, even the snap of the shutter cannot contain them.
Spreading their light in shards,
Each containing the divine spark of a life touching mine,
And a trail of personality now etched in my own,
Forever.

 

Sometimes, I remember.

I remember what it was like before I spoiled the view,

Removed the plants,

Took out the asphalt,

And painted the picture of industry in my city.

 

When I do, remember that is,

I can make the other occur,

A return to nature,

I try and make it happen like it was,

And send it back in time.

 

To the way the gardener intended.

Set to airplane mode.

Now tuned out to all ground communications,

I smile with an inner sigh,

Or relief as my small retreat from calls begins.

 

Tuning out can be nice,

For a while, but I wonder:

Who is trying to call me right now,

Perhaps it’s important,

Or am I being forgotten already.

 

Maybe I have set my life to airplane mode, tuning out God.