The Last Daisy

The last daisy. For this season, at least.

We stood, both of us, by the abandoned railway track. Basking in the last of the strong sun before the month ticks over to October.

We listened to the birds.

To my dog snuffling in the wet grass nearby.

To each other.

Both inhabiting this earth, this weary earth. Both of us strong-willed, hardy (weary) survivors.

Both of us a-bloom in unlikely places.

Heart to heart with the deep innocence of inner-child medicine of Daisy, I stood still, as time marched on.