Seashell white.
Clear space.

The space inside of song and wonder.
The part that can’t make sense of unkindness.

The flowers risk without knowing their risk,
to be open and delicate.

The effect of blossom itself
is what causes most to leave them be,
save the honey bees and humming birds,
kissing and propagating.

Our inner child grows,
finds wisdom in boundaries,
learns to protect – while  our innocence remains.

Pure. Lyrical. Lost in gentle play.
This, our most sacred self.