My day begins at night as the full moon gives in to waning. I hold my bud tight under the stars, unmoved by the hoot of midnight owl.
Content with the pre-dawn breeze, I sway beneath cedar and fir. Just a rose. A yellow rose who catches First Light like a mirror. Reflect the sun hold it deep into the petals of my heart as I begin the stretch.
The yearning to open overwhelms. After so many cold and rainy days when I slept, eyes wanting no light. My bud content with gray.
Now, the lure of sunrise seeping along fern swords dappled between maple leaves, I shiver awake knowing heat will fill my destiny. I prepare my skirts for the sun dance. When He , the Sun, is high overhead beating down on my fragile first dance, I submit.
I let my skirts drop and hear castanets as I begin to twirl in a madness of passion. I reveal a side of myself I did not know. Now it could not be better even if I were red. I am perfect yellow, better than, buttercup, dandelion or daffodil.
I grab Sun rays, let them play along my satin panels as if I could dance all night. But he pulls away, settles deep in the western cedar boughs. I am cool and exhausted.
I smile at my unfolding and remember now my first visitors, the butterfly, monarch orange against my pale petals, the tiny chartreuse spider tickling my dancing toes. Then the bumble bee danced with me for mid afternoon tea.
Twilight I wonder if it is possible to open further, to embrace more and I rest content with memories of the wild sun pressing my tender flesh. The passion of the day must give way to the cooling promise of moonbeams stroking my still body.
Moonlight and moondark have tended my growing months. I am one with Moon, sharing the softness of her muted colors soaked with grandmother spirit. The night birds twitter stops as darkness and stars appear and waning moonlight arrives late. I rest, sensing no rain in the coming day, only the promise of another dance with the sun god