WILDFLOWERS by JJ Heller
Moments only ever come
one at a time.
There’s no point in rushing through
because rushing only muffles
the ordinary and orchestral sounds
of the zipping of jackets and the clinking of spoons in cereal bowls.
Rushing robs us of hand-holding and joke-telling
Holy Moments are often mistaken for inconveniences
while we’re trying to get
the important work done.
But if the name of God is in
the sound of our breathing,
then I never want to be short of breath.
And if our days are numbered,
there is enough time.
October streets sigh
as summer gives way to Autumn.
One by one
trees reluctantly release their leaves
into the waiting hands of the wind.
Red and orange
so spectacular that we forget
these are the colors of dying.
It’s as if summer is throwing her own funeral celebration
before she says goodbye.
Sandals are moved
to the dark corners of closets
with warm memories still attached.
It’s time for the world to fall apart
and then begin again.