The morning sun reflects
Across the leaves of the red-tipped photinia,
Flowing forth to accent the brilliant
White of the oak leaf hydrangea.
Peacefulness rests solidly on the scene.
There is time for talk and a chance to listen.
Life is calm, except for the roughness at the edges.
Disagreements suddenly become prominent.
How does one disagree?
When do topics become as rough as sandpaper?
How hard does one scrape the soft edges of ideas?
If rubbed too deeply, do emotions sour, curdling like overnight cream left unrefrigerated?
Can we play with these ideas like juggling bottles in the air?
If they are dropped, are they erroneous, becoming shards swept to the garbage?
Righteousness and reason override relationships. We must think alike if we are to be maintained.
Midday has arrived; sunshine dominates. Hydrangeas and the red-tipped leaves now glow the shade of seafoam,
Shining as clearly as a meadow.
Have our ideas become more lucid, more detailed, more correct?
Were we willing to discard what was deemed baggage, too wrong to carry beyond today?
What too has become of us together? Did our arguments massage so intently our intellects that the bruising might not heal?
Relationships, love, disagreements, arguments
