While sitting in the Sabbath
stillness at Double Trouble
a honeysuckle bush
caught my eye but
not before its sweet perfume
seduced my heart.
“Consider the lilies”
I am told. So picking
one small bunch of
perfect white bells
from the branch
I began. . .
There were twelve
tiny fragrant white cups
on this particular twig,
one dangling off to the
side perhaps injured
by my intrusion.
I thought of the Twelve
connected to the
True Vine, perfect too
in their completeness,
even the one whose
betrayal left him
injured and alone.
I wondered,
does God love these
perfectly insignificant
honeysuckle buds as
much as the Twelve
or all would-be pilgrims
to come?
I thought, does
God smell like this?
Does God put on
this erotic scent every
morning to please
any lover who pauses
to notice?
I lowered the fragile
now wilting bouquet
so that Mocha could
smell too and
relish in this
synchronistic beauty.
She with one, Yoda like
gesture, in her innocent
canine wisdom, took
them whole into her
mouth before
spitting then on the ground.
And so we continued our
walk in the rain.
