Thyme

Trimming back the purple strands of thyme;
leaving the growth of last season,
and the death of winter -
as mulch for the coming year. 

Thinking of time and connection 
and following through. 

Sometimes a question arises without an answer. Or before;

“What doesn’t take time?”

I am contemplating this both in sincerity 
and in jest. 

Is there a riddle to our rhyme?

“What doesn’t take thyme?”
“Oregano.”

Except in my afternoon delirium, 
“Or An Ego” 
spells oregano. 

And sometimes Friday farm work dyslexia, 

translates with Sunday sunshine reflection; 

“What doesn’t take time ?”
“Or an ego?”
             “love”.

Does love take time?
Sometimes;

 Sometime love grows, and builds and resonates with time.

And sometimes it collapses, destroys and falls in on itself over time. 

“Love is where I both find my voice and lose it.” .. T.Tempest Williams. 

But I don’t know if love “takes” time. 

Sometimes 
love comes on so suddenly. 
with immediacy 
all of a sudden, inconveniently;
“fuck, I think I love you”.

What do we do with this sudden, impulsive, inconvenient love?

This love is exploding from me,
containing it feels impossible 
and also such beautiful practice. 

It is both unique, and familiar and new. 
“I love you” 
is emanating from me, 
can you see it?

I am sharing it in whispers, 
at the end of garden beds, 
in typewriter ink,
in avoiding tulip festivals. 
in sticky finger honey butter love. 

What do we do with this sudden, impulsive, inconvenient love?

I am reflecting it back on myself,
I’m spreading it out onto the hills, 
pressing my back into the snow;
embracing sunshine,
licking amazement from my fingertips
saying, “thank you”.

Sometimes,
love doesn’t have to take or create or destroy, 
sometimes love can just be little slivers of thyme;
moments filling us with joy, 
and gratitude and grace.