I step out of my dream—
the one where I’m planning supper,
reminding myself to buy gas,
thinking about the job I need to finish—
and wake to flowers. Flowers! Imagine!
Muted afternoon light pours in the window
casting soft shadows on their petals.
And outside, pearly raindrops glisten
on the tips of the spruce’s green needles.
They could have slipped right past me,
the raindrops, the flowers. The rain,
after all, had been falling for hours.
The flowers had been on my table for days.
And so they slid into the background,
unnoticed wallpaper, dim behind my dream.
But now, as if some silver bell just rang,
I am awake and seeing them, as if
for the very first time. Such joy!