I discovered a wildflower growing through a crack in the 3rd-floor landing. It’s baby blue face brought life to the concrete between the jewelry store and the ice cream shop.
“What are you doing here?” I wanted to ask. But something in its easy stillness, the assuredness in its silence made me pause. It seemed to have no concern whatsoever for whether it was in the right place.
With a turn of a petal as it sent off a bee, it laughed and told me, “I know you know.”
I looked over the railing at the flowers below, crowded behind a wrought iron fence and climbing over each other to see the sky. The sun slid in a lazy arc over the town, shining from the red tile roofs. Water trickled from a fountain, chatting with the birds.
A light breeze shook the lemon trees.
“Hear how they sing for you?” the flower asked.
I sat beside the flower on the 3rd-floor landing, surer than I’d been of anything that I’d stumbled into the secret conversation between life and herself. She winked at me as I stayed to listen.
“Life’s always talking like that,” the flower whispered.
“I know,” I nodded. And I stayed a while longer. Besides, the view of the mountains was lovely.
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