Most of the time I don't think much about flowers. I am pleased with the daffodils we've been given lately, they seem happy. And the various specimens we've potted around the house are lovely, especially when we remember to water them. But otherwise, they just don't occur to me much.
Except after a run. Then they start to seem truly alarming. I saw a hosta near Buena Vista park the other day whose leaves were striped so tightly with ribbons of lighter and darker green they looked like pulled taffy, shined sugar. Or the California poppies this morning, tipped up like cups of gold. So bright I had to look away. Even the grass on the swell of Corona Heights seemed unusually clear and sharp.
It's possible I need to drink more water when I run...
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