I did some freeflow writing today and eventually wound up writing about a "tidsblomst", or time flower. It intrigued me and I managed to follow the traces of my pencil to something like a little poem.
Where minutes grow and seconds fall
on the earth that does not know
All the curiosity, flowing from my eyes
into the pots and beds with seeds tucked in so neatly
In blankets of soil warmed by the sun
She never fails to send her gentle arms even through the thickest mist.
What about these hours hanging on the tree, so round and delicious?
What shall I make of them?
I decide to take a bite and and then let the rest
Ripen into somber thoughts of dark red and brown
Days uncountable soak up the rain and applaud
the wind that swiftly strokes the gentle weeks
making them bristle ever so slightly.
Strong months hold me steady when I climb the years
to fasten the swing for the children to come.
As a pendulum for their own time.
I lean myself against decades facing south
It feels as if they were never going to leave
They will be here at my return
As often as this might be.
And I am content when I see them in the magnificent storms of life
from my little hut in the middle of the garden of time.