The Garden of Friendships

Many flowers bloom
in the garden of my friendships.
Seeds, transformed by time and
nurture, are the perennials of pleasure;
rich colors and sweet fragrances the
gifts each flower brings.

There are no boundaries for my garden;
no flower is excluded.  While different
in shape and size, each claims its place
and each provides joy to the one
who walks between the rows,
stops to speak gratitude to
rose and violet alike,
cradles the wildflower with the same
tenderness as the orchid.

Just there, in the corner of the garden,
by the brook, is a trellis of morning glories.
I sit on the small wooden stool in the
cool of the morning, watching as
they come awake, as each opens
its delicate white pedals,
roused to waking by the
gentle touch of first light.

Each garden treasure is a living memory
planted in the soil of shared experience,
cherished in the laughter and tears
of another day.  It is a gasp of grief
when a beautiful bloom begins
to fade, when an empty place
in the garden is reason to kneel
and touch the earth.

Many flowers bloom
in the garden of my friendships.
And I shall walk among them
with reverence and sacred gratitude.