Blossoms on a Plane

Today I am practicing how to love everything,
from the red roofed sheds along the airport tarmac,
to each soul alone or holding sticky kid hands,
all waiting to space travel,
to my own tired eyes and apprehensive heart
as I leave this wholesome bosom of mountain country family
and step into the chosen great unknown.

A friend, younger than I, who is just now walking again
after a strange disease and months
in a wheelchair
tells me she used to think life was sweet
but that now, it is hard.

I think about all of our realities,
and how mightily we might each be working,
battling with causes great and small
as we walk by rows of upholstered chairs
or feel the icy air conditioning on our ankles.

I was lucky today to buy a bag of nasturtiums at the farmers market
and now have the magical pleasure of eating blossoms on a plane.

And so I practice, only practice,
how to pray, only pray,
as
much
of
all
the
time
as
I
can.