it’s the wildflowers

in full festival

it’s the flowers

in every glance a hint of colour to be investigated

it’s the flowers

tiny, subtle, gracious, intricate

it’s the flowers

beckoning me across the road and into the woods

it’s the flowers

delaying me and making little ones impatient with mama as they spring on to new finds

(and me impatient with them for pulling me away, yes must go alone sometimes…)

it’s the flowers

invisibe to a casual eye

revealed with attention

unveiled with presence and patience

delighting all of us with their own groupings and gatherings

what do flowers communicate?

and here and here another another

it’s the flowers

which distract Cedar from falling asleep on walks of that intent

it’s the flowers

the bold red/orange/burgundy pea his favorite and each bush gestured and acknowledged

it’s the flowers

immaculate petalled orchids the queens

puffy pompom wattles

spreading cheerful red leschenaultia and running postman

tall sunshine billy buttons

minute pink fairies

countless silky blues orchids

spider orchids

purple pansy orchids

red beaks

dampiera

dryandras

tiny delicate fringed lily twiner

bright abundant cowslips

tall breezy jug orchids in mint candy striped shirts

at least five variations on the donkey orchid

black eyed pinks

and a myriad more I cannot name but love no less

it’s the flowers

the carpet of which trails our eyes through the open woodland

it’s the flowers

which bring me here in spring

it’s the flowers

whose essence and healing I soak up

it’s the flowers

the discovery of rarities a thrill each one thrillier that the last

it’s the flowers

in rain or wind or warm

beckoning a beautiful bouquet

in amongst the silver brown hued timber

it’s the flowers

enlivening and uplifting me

it’s the flowers

stretching my smile eyes and mind

it’s the flowers.

it is.