It’s in the wastebasket:
Gossamer heaps in a glorious heavy layer
Trumping, covering, dooming to forgetfulness
The true and usual garbage underneath.
I know it’s supposed to be dead
But the richness of your cast away locks
Is weirdly enlivening… and a little unsettling.
Struck by the beauty
There in that wastebasket,
The cut hairs jar me with something of a living warning:
“Don’t be hasty. Pay attention. Slow. Don’t forget. Notice.”
Beauty is everywhere.
In the least expected and
The cast off.
It’s in the incidental, inconvenient, hard to deal with, and
It deserves our notice.
Deserves an occasional stopped-in-our-tracks consideration.
Requires a closer look, a reverent pause, and
Maybe even an adjusted approach.
It begs gratitude, it implies a Creator.
But reverie interrupted,
Your 10 year old frame lively appears and
Your gigantic little life reminds me to rally and remember
When I’m tempted to be sad by what’s lost from you, from me, from all of us.
Oblivious to my notice, your gigantic little life fills me afresh,
Stirs me out of the-trance-of-what’s-lost.
And your newly cut hair,
Flowing still somehow in cropped but rich waves out its ponytail,
Reminds and rallies me to the life and beauty that’s left.