although they grow from the same roots, what an astonishing contrast there is between these petals and their leaves. they both have had the exact same opportunities, the exact same food and drink. they’ve seen the same sun rise and fall, their lives are completely in sync. and yet, they still wander down different paths. some are petals. some are leaves. it’s a floral twin study.
if this flower was a musical romantic fantasy film, it would be beauty and the beast because it combines the trademark yellow of belle’s iconic gown and the rosiness of the beast’s rose. speaking of the disney classic, can we take a moment to ponder the pettiness of the enchantress who cursed dear prince adam in the first place? the kid was like eleven and had the audacity to refuse shelter to a creepy ass stranger. of course the most reasonable solution would be to curse him and all of his completely innocent servants (who had family/loved ones/lives of their own, might I add). what responsible use of an otherwise dope magical power.
ah to be as pure and flawless as these blooms once again. like baby skin fresh out of birth that’s never known the touch of artificial ingredients or serums. someone hook me up with this flower’s petal routine pronto.
look at these pretty stars sparkling on a leafy sky - they’re out of this world. why gaze into the heavens for horoscopes or constellations when we have our own cosmic beauties spilling from this very earth? remember, the only thing separating plants from planets is a pesky little e.
we’ve all heard the story of the tortoise and the hare with the resounding moral of ‘slow and steady wins the race’ echoing in the minds of anyone who had a childhood on planet earth. but a tale more often forgotten is that of the hare and the foliage. once upon a time, a bunny moved so sluggishly that grass overtook him and now he is forever entombed in green hands. moral of this story? not too fast and not too slow wins the race. opt for a strong power walk.
captured here is the infamous bin chicken. if it could feast on 2017, it would have a field day because, as a whole, 2017 was pretty darn trash. on the bright side, though, the following year has very low standards to compete with. here’s to hoping 2018 isn’t complete shit and if it is, I hope you at least see a lot of nice flowers along the way.
in a garden of vegetables and leaves, this fella sticks out just like this week does every single year. the period between christmas and new years is always so strange because we’re just killing time between holidays. I find it helps to remember that time is an illusion and holidays are just regular days with fancy hats on them.
“it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas,” I sing as I look out at the clear blue sky and golden heat of the australian summer. it’s most definitely not anywhere near the cozy winter days I’ve been conditioned to associate with christmas and the closest thing I have to a snowflake falling between the tinsel and fairy lights is this little guy. oh well, close enough.
throwback to the time I actually tried to put effort into taking a photo for this dumb account and it did NOT turn out as well as I thought it would, no sir it did not. moral of the story? flowers are pretty by themselves and do not need manipulation to be beautiful because they already are. if you would like to use that as a metaphor for other things then cool. also if you don’t try, then you won’t be disappointed. I probably would not recommend the latter as a metaphor for other things, no sir I would not.
when I asked this flower what its favourite things are, I thought I knew its answer. I thought it would say it likes sipping chai tea while reading jane eyre and listening to beethoven. I thought it would say it likes wool cardigans and the ballet. I thought I had it pegged. but instead it told me it likes sacrificing lambs under the shadows of night. it likes slipknot and the blood of virgins. it likes the dark certainty of death. don’t judge a book by its cover, kids, because sometimes the story is telling a whole other tale.
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.