The Scent of Wildflowers

The singing came from afar,
a melodic voice carried by the wind.
With it came the scent of wildflowers
from pastures and fields that surround the great
woods of old, found somewhere between
the mountains and the rocky coast.

I followed the song and ventured beyond
where my eyes met the horizon. Over hills
and through the valleys, I was driven by the call
to press on. Though pursued by storms, I did not
relent, and when my legs could take me no further,
I stumbled upon a colorful palette beyond remark.

My eyes welled with tears as rows of Evening
Primrose, Chicory, and Forget-me-nots covered
fields beyond my vision. The violet of Mariposa
Lilies blended with the yellow of Wallflowers
and the red of California Poppies. I stood motionless
and was overwhelmed with delectable fragrances.

And there sat Lilja, the youngest
of the Guardians of the Seeds, sweet and fair,
innocent as the bees and butterflies that hovered
over her branches. She looked over and warmly
smiled. Broken and bare, I was brought to my knees,
my heart burst, and the floodgates opened.

Her words were as redolent as the countless
flowers. She bent over and whispered, “Bruised
and battered you may be, but don’t let this world tear
you apart. Despair no more, for as the Blazing Star blossoms
year after year and is made whole again, regardless
of the tribulations, so too will your soul be revived.”