Acrylic on canvas
60 × 50 cm
Bluebells,
pale blue whispers.
Their sound is silent,
but those who listen with their inner ear
hear an ancient song,
from a time
that never quite passes.
They bow to the wild rose,
not out of weakness,
but in awe of what
lurks behind it.
For in the shadows,
where the light does not quite dare to venture,
the thorns stand
like the claws of sleeping spirits.
Thus lives the eternal tension
in the song of gentleness
between mild enchantment
and silent danger.
Each point a vow,
a curse,
a protection?
Each blossom a charm,
a blessing,
a spell?
The transition to a balance
of trust and caution
is no simple game,
but a gateway.
Only those who continue on
will know.
