I will be the gladdest thing under the sun //
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one //
I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes //
Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise (Edna St. Vincent Millay)
At my feet the white-petaled daisies display the small suns of their center-piece, their--if you don't mind my saying so--their hearts. Of course I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and narrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know. But this: is it heaven itself to take what is given to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly; for example--I think this as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch-- the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the daisies for the field. -Mary Oliver
"There were so many miracles at work: that a blossom might become a peach, that a bee could make honey in its thorax, that rain might someday fall. I thought then about the seasons changing, and in the gray of night I could almost will myself to see the azure sky, the gold of the maple leaves, the crimson of the ripe apples, the hoarfrost on the grass." -A Map of the World, Jane Hamilton
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise -Deb Talan April 2009, Yakima WA