Ah, the gift of words from others to help us see, understand, anew.
A poem.
On the healing nature of green
after reading Phosphorescence, by Julia Baird
1. ‘I see trees of green’
as I read her reflections
on light in the dark,
on the healing to be found
in nature;
the experts she cites,
whose research uncovered
healing for folk who see green
every day;
I look
to my right where my pot plants
bask in the morning sun
through curtains I leave open
for them, in case I sleep in;
the next window along frames
the bush of magenta and gold roses,
no longer adorning branches of rich
dark green leaves;
looking ahead past kitchen,
over dining table and chairs,
or further left across the sofa
strewn with cushions and cross stitch
canvas and threads –
bushes, trees, leaves of every
shade of green are all
I can see;
later, when the sun moves around
I will take her book to the papasan
chair on the porch, my turn
to bask in sun light and green,
accompanied by the bees who love
the red flowery branches screening
my outside nook.
All that green, I see;
all the green they say
will heal,
and yet –
and yet, I am still
2. Well enough.
Remember the words of another,
writing to you, I speak gently
to myself;
the words of wonder as you fight
to live life and fully as you can,
as you achieve, and create,
though you pay some heavy price?
Remember the words used
to describe your quiet,
lonely hero’s journey through each long day –
remember?
And I look again to my pot plants,
the bushes and trees, all that
green and I gush gratitude: for what
part they must play in carrying
this lonely heroine through her days,
I can but wonder,
in awe.
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