at the end of daytime fever I hear the thunder rumbling in the distance a forgotten song from long ago —
is it you, my lost love, your beloved voice resonant in the clouds, a lament of lavender longing and the firefly lightnings —
did you come to let me know infinitely far from the miles of sky that you remember my smile, and how life would have been filled with flowers if we walked hand in hand in the summer rain, just you and I —
now comes the twilight, the rumbling thunder fades into a sigh and I walk in my garden alone with this poignant longing of holding your hand.
street waifs stringing white flowers into long, fragrant necklaces, plucked them from the sky shook them from the tall green bushes until they fell like rain upon the grass —-
jasmine necklaces sold for devout señoras to wear at Flores de Mayo processions five centavos for all that work, three if señoras haggled long enough —-
were you one of the little ones hands baked by the sun, wide-eyed, barefoot, hungry?
how time comes and leaves so swiftly as in half a breath, as in a hurried dream, and for whatever reason there may have been I came to be —-
older folks would tell me you walked miles to school, no centavos for a ride, and your classmates laughed and sneered as they rode the bus and passed you by, you walked on carrying your dreams in your heart.
how time comes and leaves so swiftly as in half a breath, as in a hurried dream, and you are gone —-
tonight as I recall the tales of folks from long ago I drench my pillow with the fragrant tears of white jasmine flowers through the midnight hours, into the break of dawn.
The air was a white, pearlescent haze as I walked upon the street cobblestones along some quaint shops in a New England village. A small leather bag hanged from my right wrist and in it were my credit cards, driver’s license, passport, and some dollar bills. I felt uncomfortable with the small bag as it was not the shoulder bag I usually carry around.
After walking a while, I sought refuge in a furniture store where I could rest my aching feet. It was then when I noticed that my little leather bag was no longer around my wrist. Suddenly I felt a whirlwind of panic — I have lost the objects of my identity! In the midst of my bewilderment, a kind, middle-aged lady approached me and I told her my plight. With a sweet, soothing voice she said, “My dear, everything can be replaced”.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. It was all a dream.
The leather wrist bag flashed in my mind and immediately I was smacked with a shock of recognition: it was the exact same bag my father had given me to hold my passport, plane ticket and three single dollar bills when I left home decades ago to pursue graduate studies in a foreign land.
All I owned when I embarked on the plane were three single dollar bills, a few clothes in a small suitcase, and my name.
In a faraway land, God has faithfully provided for me through the promise of each new day, especially through difficult circumstances, across the landscapes of the seasons and the years.
In this life I can easily misplace so many worldly “things” which can be replaced. What I cannot lose is the essence of who I am as a child of God. Though the seedling has grown into a strong, tall tree which blossoms every spring, I am that same young lady who left everything behind, flew towards the stars, crossed oceans and mountains, to pursue a dream.
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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