Here is something a little different… I hope you enjoy.
I picked a flower. I didn’t know why I picked it, but I did. It was soft and pink and smelled like distant rain. I didn’t know why I picked it because it was hours past midnight and no one would notice if I wore it in my hair. I knew its pinkness, because I walked past its tree everyday. At least 4 times. I walked past because the tree with its soft, pink flowers that held the promise of fresh soil in their bloom sat on the path that led to the sea. It sat in a reverie, lost in thoughts of the Things Trees Think. I could tell. Its branched were heavy, laden with the possible and the im; one curled up and out and back from the trunk, to rest its fist on the cheek of the tree. My tree, with the soft, pink flowers that sniffed of future life.