in the spirit of the spooky season, these little guys remind me of tiny ghosts tethered to the earth, wandering wherever the wind will take them. if I were a ghost, I would haunt a cinema so that I could watch endless free movies for the rest of time. unfortunately, these guys don’t have eyes so they can’t do the same. happy halloween, you flower-loving ghouls!
this little purple guy has places to go, things to see, work to do. enthusiasm pours off his petals in abundance, like stars streaking the sky. as the sun beats down on him he rises up, eager to seize the day. he is the epitome of ambition. I, on the other hand, am so lazy that instead of fetching myself dinner, I turned a five o’clock nap into a slumber that sleeping beauty would be jealous of and slept until noon the next day. I wish I could be him.
gold turns men into wolves and lovers into foes. gold can make even the most gentle eyes glint with ingrained greed. the world is built on gold. but I would take these golden petals over that scrap-metal junk any day.
these were just one of the many little beauties that bloomed in the garden of a magical little house that resided on a busy little street. unfortunately, I only had the balls to take a photo of these guys before I dashed off, because I didn't want to be misconstrued as a representative of the ministry of magic that has come to fine the owner of the household for violating plant regulation laws as I can only assume that the reason their garden thrives with such vigour is because they are a witch.
look at this photo. let your gaze wander from her chocolate brown eyes to the soft pink petals and hold the details in your mind's eye. imagine her chomping and gnawing on the green stem with fangs meant for flesh. it's eat or be eaten in the natural world and she knows on what part of the spectrum she lies. but, as the flower falls with a broken neck, only one sound can be heard: om nom nom nom om nom om nom nom om om nom om nom nom nom.
the last time I checked up on these growing green guys, they were babies the size of a teacup pig or teacup puppy or any other thing that fits in a teacup. now they are well into their adolescence with their bodies marred by plant acne and their roots dramatically searching for where they belong. soon they'll be holding frat parties with the roses and drinking rainwater until morning. oh to be young and reckless, what a time to be alive.
these pink beauties grow from the roots of a forgotten house. as its paint peels and the walls crack, these flowers grow bigger and stronger. it's almost as if the house is feeding it with the memories of those who once lived there but nevermore.
this is prime lemonade stand material and it's right in my backyard. just looking at this citric goldmine I can imagine the freshness running down my throat, filling my veins with sweet acidic energy. I'll start by selling them big and cheap until word spreads, demand grows, and I'll steadily up the price. eventually I'll be the head of a lemon empire and you can find our lemonade everywhere from machu picchu to the pyramids. I'll watch my brand paint the world yellow from upon my lemon throne, until my ashes are buried among the roots of the tree where it all began. I will be remembered as the queen of lemons. beyoncé would be so proud.
in real life, this little guy is teeny-tiny. if I had to compare it to a common household object for you to comprehend the tininess of its size, I would say that it is similar to a frying pan if the frying pan was only used by a mouse to cook a single peanut over a dainty flame. though, that would be absurd, of course. everyone who is not a complete moron knows that mice are allergic to peanuts.
let me tell you about this photo. at my institute of higher learning, the people who 'know better' are making me take a photography class because they believe having those skills will be an asset in my future field of work. I hate this class. not because I don't like taking photos but rather because I don't like putting grades on creativity. art is subjective. two old men in tweed coats and round glasses are going to have an insanely different opinion on what's good and what's not than I do. also this class requires me to allocate more than thirty seconds to take a photo which is the definition of counterproductive to me and my short attention span.
these flowers are the size of my freshly-manicured thumb nail. they are the supporting act for a bigger show. they are filler flowers. they are a frame. and yet, the sun still looks down on them with golden rays as their petals are deemed worthy enough for its light. similarly, the sun deems us worthy enough to be blessed with its glow dancing upon our skin. we are barely a grain of sand in the grand scheme of the universe and this flower is even smaller than us and then an actual grain of sand is even smaller than that. we are nothing. nothing matters. just have fun. in the sun.
captured here is the floral reenactment of the shakesperian classic, 'romeo and juliet'. there is a solid line drawn in the soil between the warring montagues and capulets, blurred at the top for two desperate lovers who believe they are soulmates after only having known each other for like three days. yet, ultimately their love will return back into the earth from which they came as their petals fall in two of the dumbest deaths caused by miscommunication that their ghosts are certainly going to be shocked to hear about.
this flower pot resides on the alfresco table in my family home and after months of sparse buds, it finally started blooming. captions were writing themselves in my head as I took photos of these pink and white beauties but every time the sun rose on the next day, there would be more petals to snap. every time I thought I had finally captured the perfect picture, I would pass the jardiniere and it would look even prettier than before so I had to take some more. that is, until I moved out of my family home and the pot is there and I am here and I don’t know what it looks like today.
I stumbled upon this glass house of flowers in the middle of a magical garden far far away. after admiring their beauty for a moment I noticed a peculiar thing: the glass house had no doors. I pondered this fact but in my heart of hearts, I immediately knew there was only one explanation: these flowers were obviously ancient, evil beings seeking world domination whose fragrant aroma could kill a person in twenty-three seconds flat. bless the anonymous hero who saved us from their aromatic fragrance. may these monsters stay trapped in their clear prison till the sun never rises again.
look up. if there is a roof above you, go outside or stick your head out of a window or google it. look at the sky. sometimes it's bright and blue and bold. sometimes it's dark and dangerous and daring. but no matter how it's feeling, there is only one sky. whether you're in togo or lichtenstein, the sky above you is still the same sky. a small part of a bigger picture. the atmospheric wrapping of the entire earth. it's never ending. doesn't that just boggle your mind?