a single week

I arrived on the Cape just as the flowering trees came into bloom, and I walked these roads heady with their perfume, until that day when the flowers began to fall like snow as if I was floating through a painting, and the ground underneath my step was made holy in a carpet of of pink and purple and white.

At the end of a week’s time, it was all gone, as if it had never happened, much like the rising or setting sun if you sleep too late or work too long, and much like life I suppose and loved ones too.

Attention is the stuff of wonder.


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