The orchid is finally blooming, in striking shades of MAUVE and deepest purple. It looks like it should have a SCENT, but it does not. I nurtured it, repotted it, and took the time to SWEEP away the mealy bugs that have plagued it. I have been careful not to break or damage the flowering spike when at last it appeared. The buds took their time to appear and to open, each one a tight curved SHELL. I struggled to find a SHELF for it to display its rich beauty. I finally settled on a spot next to a white orchid, their blooms arcing over the fronds of the ponytail palm, my own personal jungle.

Georg’ann

Silent child, expressive face
refuses to speak ALOUD.
Glues buttons on paper.
Quizzical look as we hear
the microwave ding
from the next room. Scent
of Ashley’s CHILI comes
through the door.
He rises from his art, glances
at me before taking a SHELL
off the SHELF. Places it in sand,
returns to resume his creation.

Heather