We wait patiently for peony to bloom,
to open and shine in all her glory.
Might she feel the excitement
in being all that she is,
the anticipation as stem grows stronger—
stands taller reaching for the sun.
We too wait for blossoming,
not always patient,
wanting to be all that we are.
We forget that each moment of
loving and being arrives at the next,
until next is lived, and then next,
and on until our heart petals open in joy
and we arrive within to all that is
“How does the meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.“
William Wordsworth
“If your heart is a volcano, how shall you expect flowers to bloom?“
Khalil Gibran
“May my soul bloom in love for all existence.“
Rudolf Steiner