The Pasque

At first through raindrops fat and wet, I go looking for something this Spring I have not seen yet, walking to a place where I know I can find the flowers called Pasque, even though a nagging knee pain has me in doubt I should try, I have decided this is my afternoon’s task, and then the rain stops, it’s now just me, low clouds and the footpath. I tread carefully with conscious purpose to a bend in the trail where I know it is safe to assume I will find the Pasque in bloom. As I arrive the sun does too, lighting both the perfect petals and my life as the sky turns blue and now with a renewed sense of hope I recline on a flower-filled slope and feel an old familiar sense of ease as I breathe in deep a pine-scented breeze 


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