What Is

In summer’s glory, the sunflower field was full of bees and goldfinch.
Monarch butterflies perched daintily as
hummingbirds darted from flower to flower.
And people came, too.  
The warmth of the sun,
the blue mountain backdrop,
and the vivid cheer of bright yellow sunflowers
delighted children and elders alike.
It was a place of joy and hope,
of wonder and freedom from any sorrow,
from any fear.

In time, the upward-turned sunflower faces
tilted forward and
then soon downward.
Petals,
once bright and full,
shriveled and dulled.
And as the autumn frost moved in
and time moved on
the hues of the sunflower field became
solemn in their browns and greys.

Yet, the stalks remained strong,
and the heads of the hundreds of steadfast sunflowers
remained bowed in reverent prayer.
The ground more sacred.
The sky wider.
The echoes of whispered yearnings
are still safe in this field.

If you go there now,
if you wander the rows until you find 
a small patch of grass
and you rest there
with the dry, grey sunflowers looking down upon you,
might you discover
something in you
changed?

Could beauty 
that is not beautiful
and wonder
that is not wonderful
teach us to love
our lives as they are
where we are
as we are?

Even now,
the wind is shifting
and that which was silent
is full of song.