In February, the light changes. The neglected geranium on top of my bookshelf notices, and buds.
The florist puts rose petals out in the snow. They freeze into bright eggshell-thin cups. Later I'll find soggy wads of them in my coat, as if I tried to pocket a snowball.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjrgo87qM8xjWA80pkpaARbrHg66mT2oOjONUIIYs0HN4eMqfuLHy_ik0QTNYiHmKFPWq_d-dy45OMj3gbC-SVXoQl0k85aVDwWwp9IVjd5xv7FKrIti1XaMohSOrmWaprD9bb6MPesc/s200/petal.jpg)
But for now, we scoop them up by the cold handful, valentine petals on the white sidewalk, something right out of Snow White.
1 comment:
Poetic. Lovely.
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