February 23, 2015


In southern Spain, in the military, in December, I once danced in a field of sunflowers. Or not danced, so much as sang. Or not sang, so much as listened to a helianthus symphony where a Sunday of Gods and witches were painted a noon-light yellow so bright that I felt like I was a non-denominational church myself. In full dress blue uniform with the first Gulf War so distant and the happiness that no one I knew had died or was hurt terribly. Below, a pool at my feet that looked filled with vodka was really a carnival of rain, a mirror for clouds, a pond of hope and youth.


Photo "Last Sunflowers" provided by Jens Auer, via Flickr creative commons license.

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