As I wandered around my home last night... I noticed my orchid, and her fragile blooming.
I found her in the public market, in Viroqua, Wisconsin, where I grew up... sitting in an Easterly window basking in morning sun. I brought the flower to Chicago, traveling precarious roads. I had to place her in a Westerly window; it's the only place I get consistent sun. She sits there, right next to my slumber, in a microcosm of moist soil and humidity. Shortly, after she acquired her new home... all her flowers dried and fell to the floor, a constant stream of new objects to stalk and kill for my feline companions.
I worried she might not make it... ripped from her unglaciated home in southwest Wisconsin... withering from loss, change and westerly sun. Ready to transition. Unafraid.
Instead, her phase has blossomed into moist wanting... delicate petals... ready to... tangle.
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