The prompts this time were for what I call a “shorty-short”: a five-minute writing exercise.
What did the flower say?
It’s spring again, and this is how it feels.
What I wrote is below.
The rhododendron decided to bloom yesterday: big, hot pink stars nestled in deep green leaves. The trumpet flower tree is on a roll, and the jasmine vine has covered the fence; I can smell the blossoms on warm nights, wafting through the open window. The lilac is lagging behind, in competition with the new sprout on the hydrangea. Everything is still green, with only splashes of pink and white.
On a walk today, I passed the little tree surrounded by sweet peas—purple and white—and I made myself backtrack to smell them. Pure pleasure, feminine, light.
I’m basking in the fragrant light of it again, my favorite season, my hands cradling a paper cup of coffee, the sun warm again on my scalp. Spring invites me to sit on a bench outside Bernie’s coffee house and flirt with a tiny Maltese mix, or wave back at a toddler with pudgy hands in a stroller. I’m seeing the world through Equinox eyes. At the halfway mark a light snaps on and I can see my favorite season. There’s nothing but potential. Even the date midweek with the Spanish guy feels like a possible new beginning.
“Don’t get lost in the fantasy of it all,” I tell myself.
But Spring counters that thought with pink inspiration.
“Go ahead,” it whispers. “Dream awhile.”