A flower labyrinth

Lying quietly on a hillside, waiting for who wants to walk its curves
With dry grass crackling underfoot.
Small flowers meeting you along the winding path
Mowed down but stubbornly returning like reminders
That some things in life are too precious to trample.

The world is ever present as I walk this labyrinth,
With wind, pricking grass straws, the sound of a far-off bush mower
Someone waking up in the house nearby.
But that is alright — not every meditation needs to be
A deeply otherworldly experience.
The world is welcome to walk this one with me.

A labyrinth on a slope means sometimes you go uphill
And things are inevitably harder, sometimes
You have to watch your step so as not to trip
On the sudden way down.
The trees are watching you, as they grow.

