My wife and I were walking recently down a stretch of path that isn’t particularly beautiful, on the back side of an industrial estate. Suddenly she paused—
“I just want a few of those purple flowers over there.”
“I don’t see any purple flowers?”
“That’s because you’re not looking.”
Which was true. I wasn’t. I had not paid any attention to the unkept grass beside us. She took the flowers home and made a little posy for the windowsill, as she often does. And that’s what this poem is about.
Windowsill Posies
As we walk on the way
you see a bouquet
where I only noticed some weeds
as you gather them in
I’m looking again
and the beauty is there, I agree
the world that you show me
in windowsill posies
is teaching my eyes how to see
