May 30th

Tuesday, 7:27am

Amongst the slugs and snails of the garden, I was led to believe the right shell would come along, sooner or later.

Make due. Said the garden.

Sooner, or, later. 

It's simple, the birds scoffed, wear a shell, that is not yours.

And until then, sit with restlessness.
Sit with, expectation.

Born a snail, reminded the ants. You must find your place.

And until then, live with heartache.

Make due. Reminded the garden.

Amongst the slugs and snails of the garden, no one told me I was a caterpillar.

That sooner or later, shell be damned;

my napping would be useful.

Amongst the slug and snails of the garden, like the flowers, I would bloom.

Keep your path, scolded the ladybugs.

That sooner, or later, felt between my morning due wings, I could reach the breeze.

And when that comes I will breathe in the spring.
Bathe in the sun, and dance with bees.

Amongst the slugs and snails of the garden, like the seasons, my time would come.

You are not othered, reassured the garden. Your path needed to be cleared by spring storms, it could not be found amongst the garden floor.

You looked up, you found more.

Now you can see with kindness.
Now you carry compassion on your wings.

Now you fly with spirit.

Amongst the slugs and snails of this plot, I needed to feel the rain.

I am proud, smiled the garden, now your dreams like my summer, have found colour.

Now your heart is free.