I started light horticulture studies this Spring, knew that life wasn’t over for me after Winter. It sounds dramatic but what a dark hole I was in. It passed. I sought. I moved. With flowers, it’s different. They each teach me something, resonating, leaving me with their legacy after they die. I touch them and they happen to me, in my hair, against my skin. Different feels on my fingertips and toes like how your tongue is separated in different continents of taste buds. I’ve been playing with these all morning.
My heart, bliss. Full for a moment.