The Infinitesimal of Tiny Dreams

via Daily Prompt: Tiny

I often write the word tiny, little, small, trying to describe certain things.  It litters sometimes the papers I write my words on.  This tiny little desire to catch my breath today, this tiny little bird sitting on the edge of the bird bath today, shoved away by two fat robins and then suddenly they decide to let it stay.

This tiny hurt inside from twenty years ago when you rebuffed me, the insults of a thousand people walking by– sometimes a push a shove a snide remark or glance. The tiny enormity of these hidden sorrows, the stupidity of tiny self-centered emotion, the silliness of the tiny little faces in our mirrors.

The tiny joy of seeing that hummingbird one day in front of my face just a tiny foot away.. hovering there like a tiny helicopter mechanical leaf a grain in the sand a drop in the ocean, that such a tiny thing is so beautiful so small so delicate and can leap and fly a thousand miles a day.

Those tiny little peas I ate when my mother was dying and I didn’t know it, savoring each tiny burst of delicate green popping in my mouth like my desire for a breath of clean air, or England in the spring.

That tiny star I saw yesterday morning outside in the dark in the autumn air and the tiny birds deep in the shrubs near me suddenly awakened from their tiny deep slumbers, the sleep of the last living poetry lovers on earth who soar and sing and chant sometimes deep into the night.   The tiny voices not so tiny but shattering almost the night the sky the clouds and even re arranging the stars……..

The dark sky lightened and the tiny little breeze that lifted the edge of my robe the tiny little whispering a mile away of cars that sounded like a weird ocean and the big pink open mouth suddenly lighting up the sky like Marilyn Monroe or Elizabeth Taylor poolside in sunny LA.  The pink wide mouth just appeared and a very tiny bird flew into it as though flying into heaven– the bird so tiny even tinier than the tiny plane that glided past and tiny bird and plane both the same, but I saw the tiny bird shiver as it sailed by the lipstick sky.

Looking in the mirror I saw something tiny dark green like an emerald in the shade and then lit up suddenly like the ocean by a vertical sun, such a tiny glinting thing on my shoulder and I remember the beautiful girl a decade ago at the Opera and her tiny emeralds dripping down her beautiful neck and back like tiny little stones scrubbed by tiny little droplets from gushing waterfalls, rivers,streams, meandering meandering like the tiny yellow leaves I see floating down the river and vanishing now like the tiny tiny tears falling from my chin.

About O

I live in a suburb of an American City. I write to try and understand myself and the world around me. I love nature, art, music, literature and beauty in all its forms. I love food. But then food is a whole other world.... I think the world has gone mad and many of us will soon go insane from living in this world. What I love almost more than anything is my garden. I love its trees its shrubs and its many flowers. I love the birds, their flying and singing and dancing movements in and out of the sky and garden. Their freedom. I could watch birds all day long. They always bring joy. I love to work in my garden. To get muddy and dirty, digging, weeding, mowing, pruning and deadheading. Then, I like to have a cool glass of white wine or red, or sometimes a Manhattan, and drink in hand, I walk around and look at the fruits of my labor. And that walk each and every day in my little paradise.. because that is what gardens are.... brings me almost complete joy... My blog is whennothingworks because for a long time nothing has worked. Friends, family, jobs, money, houses, careers, lovers, things--- it all just doesn't work sometimes, or most of the time. The garden always works. Nature and its beauty always work. And, in my garden, I can sit quietly and think, or just breathe, and somehow manage to survive the world.
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