Poem: Honeysuckle Time


Honeysuckle Time

Dusk falls as you walk past the honeysuckle.
well past its peak with more brown flowers than white,
and yet what is left still fills the air
with the sweetest perfume,
perhaps even sweeter knowing it’s life is half past
and what is left is fleeting.

And so you stop.
You savor, lingering long,
breathing deeply the glorious smell of summer,
grateful even for the passing of time
and how it has changed you, slowed you down,
made you
more aware of the glory of each and every moment.

About this poem

This poem is sort of about three things, all of which have been rattling around in my head for a few days.

  • I am in a crazy busy time this week, running hard from early morning until late at night. Which means every moment I can stop and savor has more importance.
  • Finding anything late in life, a passion, a love, faith, has a special poignancy, for there is less time left to savor it.
  • When you have lost something, or nearly lost something, savoring what is left takes on a new urgency, whether that is life itself, or love, or our own souls.

The picture of the honeysuckle was taken in Virginia last week.



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