Star Lily

I woke up before the sun today, to my yellow star lilies resting near my chilled window. I bought them at the grocery store the day before, and fell in love with the richness of their butter-yellow petals. Two of them had yet to bloom. I usually buy the battered and torn flowers because I fear they will not experience the love they need before an eventual shrivel. And even though each flower faces the same fate, I knew to pick the budding yellow lilies...still fresh like spring, and kiss goodbye the beaten and worn for another day.

My little lilies have brown cinnamon dots on their insides, much like freckles on child. They are a sweet surprise when in bloom. And in the stillness of the morning, with slight frost on my windows from the chilly evening, I got up from underneath the covers and felt the grooves of their insides, the thinness of their edges. One bud, the largest of the bunch, began to move under my fingers. And with the slightest of motion, each petal split smoothly, and half way out like a banana, freshly peeled. It was as though I was watching a nature show that speeds up the film to show the growth of the flower, in a moments' time. But it happened before me...and I removed my hand so as to let nature take its' course.

The silence of my old red barn house. The deep purple of the night. The african colors of my room. The mini pumpkins that sit on my sill, aging gracefully into their senior year. All of it, miraculous. The space between our thoughts. The moments we are present for. The moments we miss.

The dance our heart really beats for.

At 6am, this is life.