Have you noticed

how certain flowers -- colorful, indeed -- cannot be picked?  I find city walks are seedbeds for such thoughts.  Hopefully, Susan will concur.   

All flowers are a center of light, don't you think?

Have you ever thought, the center of a morning glory is a similar to a petite flashlight?  

 

Comfort

 What feeds memory:  running water, flowers and the light which illuminates.  

The eye of a flowers

 glimpses its own imagination.  Imagine that!

There are showy flowers

 and there are quiet flowers.  Like people.  Like the time of day with light ascending or receding.  

The make-believe worlds of flowers:

subtly magical.  Like the dream-time of lizards.  

What would you think of Mondays

 if all flowers were only in the hues of gray, black and the the occasional white?  

Even when static

flowers have a swagger and a swirl about them.  They love a bit of purple.  A tad of red.  
 

Overlay of memories

Like us, flowers are not singular in nature.  They thrive in community scented by the fragrances of layered memory.  
 

Memory is a screen

a shade.  A way to slowly bring memory into focus.  What was the first flower at your grandmother's that said to you, "You will always love flowers."  

 

What do flowers and shoes share in common?

Both love the ground.  Both love to leave the ground.  Both are sky seekers.   

Blur

is a swipe into beauty.  Like the taste of unseen pepper in potato soup.  Like the precision of just the right word in a sentence, in conversation, in the imagination.  Complemented flowers in a treasured vase.