Nature Grows Art

I find peace in soul-feeding art that is Nature-made: trees defleshed by time, stones caressed by sun and rain and snow… to be cairned by hands that love, love, love to write in bones that echo the wild song of leaves that can no longer tongue the wind.

Nature
grows art
out of death…
to delight the wild
living.

bloom and fruit
adorn my garden
before fall

Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

My Passion Flowers (and fruits)

I
love it
when you blush…
right before I bite
you.

 

my passion flowers
under the feel of summer
warming up my ink

 

do not bite,
love, wait a bit
to taste me

 

Yep, my garden is probably in lust. But who can blame her (yes, my garden is definitely a girl, I can tell)? I mean, look at that strawberry, blushing for all to see. And what can I say about the passion flower?

Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.