One of my great desires has always been to have a greenhouse. In a corner of my dining room is a small conservatory, a Victorian imitation, and within are a cyclamen and African violets. This morning, this cyclamen was blooming and I spent an hour admiring it, shooting the light on its petals, diving into a wordless orgy of appreciation. There is something so quiet and renewing about flowers, something that heals all those little broken spots and makes you feel you might be able to take a deep breath and keep moving after all.
If I had a greenhouse, I’d probably never get any writing done. I’d just be in there, shooting photos from twelve angles, breathing in the fresh exhalations of the leaves.
Is there some small beauty in your life that stops you exactly in your tracks?
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