From time to time my husband buys me tulips.
A variety of colours; orange, purple, red, yellow.
They begin tight lipped, buds;
Then begin to slowly open out.
And then they are beautiful.
Their colours become subtle,
their shapes become chaotic,
each one now completely distinct,
stunning in their individuality.
Perhaps they had marvelled at a tulip.
Solomon, in the temple garden.
Jesus, sold by Persian traders.
Perhaps they had both seen the explosion of Grace.
In its final phase.
The black stamen an impassioned heart,
stretching forth from the petals,
like the human soul reaching
from the flesh into eternity.
“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. Matthew 6:28-29