World of Flowers, World of Flame
It has been three years since I last wrote about the spring wildflowers. My lips have been sealed in a loud silence. I have been tumbling through the dreams of California. Words have been far away, changing quickly, they slip past my lips before I speak them. There were dreams then I wished to utter, and I still desire to pronounce them. But I struggle in this golden darkness. The seasons lift me up and humble me. A great riptide keeps me in its powerful gyre, and I do not find the will to escape. I envy the exultant jubilance of green-gold on the jetstreaming sky. Why, and what words form in me here?
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