Adrifter

I've become more comfortable talking about writing everyday than I am with the act itself. Is it easier to build with gesture and intention than it is with action? I guess so.

I bought roses in the grocery store and I never realized how much I really admire the flower. The tight little buds have always seemed like a number of things I do not like, pursed lips, mincing steps, Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. But two days later they're unfolding: wild, wide bursts of color, fronds of pollen at their stems. I am stuffing my face with them, their scent, the vellum-velvet texture. M takes the time to remind that tomorrow or the day after they'll start to wither and brown, but I don't care. Short lived but lovely is pleasure enough right now.