since the thing perhaps is
to eat flowers and not to be afraid
― e.e. cummings
The ranunculus are dying, just as the sweet peas and apple blossom have started to come out. I'll never get over the lushness and intricacy and sheer wonder of a flower and I don't care how naff that sentiment may be or how often I might repeat it. They are beautiful.
I'm visiting D. later this afternoon. I often bring her flowers, something I rarely do in general, but D. always acts like I've brought her an amazing treasure when I turn up at her door with a small bouquet. She admires the colours and the shapes and looks for the right container, and together we stand back and stare at them feeling very pleased with ourselves. At least I do. It is such a hard thing to invoke delight in someone that whenever I do manage it I feel a little like I have accomplished some very deep magic. There are many reasons to love my friend D., but that she is so easy to bring joy to might be my most favourite reason of all.
That, and she encourages my chocolate habit.
I picked Iona up from a Year 9 school dance last night, and she got into the car so excited and so energetic and so alive. It was awkward at first, she said, with no-one dancing, but there was a little stage thing and some people got up there to dance and then she got up there to dance and then YMCA started playing and everyone danced. Once you hit the chorus of that song, she reckons, you can't not dance. They had fancy strobe lights and a mirror above their heads so they could look up and see themselves and it was so much fun.
I love how much joy you get out of joining in on life, I told her. There are so many things in your future that you are going to be able throw yourself into at full speed and squeeze bucket loads of enjoyment from. That's good, she said. That's a good thing.
I think so too. Since the thing, perhaps, is to eat flowers and not to be afraid.