My Doctor Told Me I Should Meditate…

by animalworkss

Hi flower! I need your help. How is it, flower, that you get me to thinking about my own thinking? Do you think? Do you speak? I’m pretty sure you speak to me, but are you sure you speak to others in the same manner? I love your leaves, and how they’re a little bit hairy. I love your stem, even more hairy than your leaves. The pores by which you feed are showing, yet you’re still modest. Though, I will say, you work it quite well; your veins subtly revealing themselves as aesthetic compliments to the function which you may or may not possess. Do you possess, oh flower? If so, you surely possess me. Do you feel my gaze? Do you see me? Do I see you, even?! If so, will you ask your buddy rain to leave a baby bit of space for me to humbly participate in the primacy of your growth? May I grow with you forever? May I grow with you even if your life is cut short by an irresponsible lawn-mower? I hope to God that you never get run over by an irresponsible lawn-mower. But if you do, know that I’ll keep for your sake the stakes we took from indubitableness. I’ll always remember the sparkling hue of your champagne petals, your sturdy roots entangled, implied beneath the soil, and the way you wink at me when the sun’s not paying attention. Your form is timeless, insofar as I keep time with your presence; insofar as I thank you for being there. Thank you flower. Thank you for being there. Now please go away… I’ve got things to do…

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Copyright Keli Birchfield 2015

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