My Life In Word

A Flower of Radiant Beauty

She rises where the quiet light is born,
not asking permission from the morning sky,
but opening anyway—
petal by petal,
as if the world itself
had called her name.
The wind moves around her gently,
as though it remembers
something sacred it once forgot.
Even time slows here,
hesitating at the edge of color
too vivid to pass without notice.
She does not try to shine.
She simply becomes what she is—
a soft declaration
that beauty does not need applause
to be real.
Bees arrive like small prayers
drawn to what they cannot explain,
and the earth beneath her roots
holds steady,
as if proud to be the ground
that supports such becoming.
And when evening leans in close,
she does not disappear—
she gathers the last light,
holds it briefly within herself,
and teaches the dark
how to remember brightness.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by Kazuhiro Yoshimura on Unsplash

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