There is a garden in the deepest part of me, full of flowers thin as paper. These paper flowers rise in song while love is racing through their stems, and every cripple here could walk and touch them, feel them, see their beauty and warmth – there is no thing here without life, for even paper flowers rise. Like love notes they are scattered through the valleys and the mountains that no mind could ever dream of, yet every heart should know. And through the endless valleys filled with love songs steeped in petals, all the grass is singing sweetly, full of the secrets in my heart. The meadows sway in unison and run into the waters, waters lapping at the mountains deeply somber, standing near and bold. They are clothed in night and climb the skies until the peaks are golden sun, running down upon their faces, back to the meadows and the sea. The foundations of the earth are here, and hold my mountains close. Nothing can be shaken in the deepest of this valley, and none can be moved save to rise out of darkness into glorious day, for even the cores of these mountains are illuminated. I am hidden in the deepest parts, in the warmth of the sun of this valley, in the shadows of the mountains that rise like gates. I am folded like a paper flower, rising. I am a love note written and sealed, waiting to be broken open, rising. For when He speaks He calls my name and seeks me out through gardens, here, and gates. For when He speaks, I am opened, and all my limbs unfold like petals and I am a love song, rising.
