It's terrible that so many people are dying from Covid. I hear records being broken so often for the highest daily Covid death toll. Literally, tens of thousands of people are dying every single day. I hardly ever go outdoors, but at least today I happened to briefly glance out a window and see a flower blooming. https://photos.app.goo.gl/GRASsmS8wf1Q9hEYA Not this flower, I'm just taking this opportunity to show the ugliest flower I've ever seen so that you appreciate other plants more. My own backyard managed to be disconcerting because I was just so used to the same old furniture and computer screen that represent my stagnant and colorless life indoors. This blossoming flower was as if a random child had called my name out of nowhere. Once I focused, my first thought was: this flower is kind of ugly—though not as ugly as the one in the above shot. It was just your average flower-that-is-also-definitely-a-weed, you know what I mean. I just searched up “what do you call a weed flower?” A mistake. Hopefully, this was obvious, but I didn't mean a flower that is weed, I meant a flower that is a weed: an infestation that clogs up your yard and magically sprouts from concrete. . . . don't do weed. Moving on, the pandemic has made me bitter, and the minimal social contact has caused my emotions to become bottled up. How dare some plant grow and live when literally tens of thousands of people are dying every day? Then, I realize: at least this albeit weird, random, and little flower gets to grow and live when people are dying every day. At least, life will continue, even if humans die out. Plenty of weird, random, and little things, like my younger brother and other pests, are just too stubborn to ever give up. They'll live on no matter where we've gone. Where there are flowers, there is hope, even if, correction, even when they're ugly (because there will always be ugly ones). Yes, where there is nature, even when it's ugly and actually turns out to be weeds, there is hope. I don't know if I missed nature the most in terms of feelings. In fact, I haven't given it a single thought until today, but it's like I'm meeting it all over again, and it's, well, amazing. https://photos.app.goo.gl/Sq592iVk2SKWk48J7 And any nature you see is bound to be prettier than the spiky dandelion copycat growing out of my family's green onions. I thought maybe I'd write something nice about flowers and hope but was extremely let down to find no other flowers in the backyard for inspiration. As a last resort, I turned to the stuff growing on top of the green onions, which I think look too weird to even be classified as weeds. They actually seem kind of exotic or maybe my brain is getting fuzzy because I need sleep. I spent a whole second looking for my glasses before I realized that I was wearing them. In the end, the green onion stalks are edible, and that's what really matters. In the afternoon, I went outside to ponder the plant some more. I took a step out of the door, and the first things I noticed were the sun and its warmth, the sky and how blue it is, the plants and how they seem to glow with green life, and then the little bugs and how they crawl around. It was a perfect sunny day (despite the bugs). The distant noise made it seem like I was a part of the world again. Without a mask covering my nose and mouth, even the air I breathed seemed fresher and sweeter. I felt free. I felt alive. The previous paragraph was all in my head. When I went out, it was completely dark already, which is probably why I couldn't find proper flowers. I did notice that the moon, stars, and night sky were beautiful. This was probably because of the contrast between the dark, black sky and the bright, white moon and stars. There were also the vague shapes that seemed to be both in the stars as constellations and in the moon as shadowy figures. There was the silence. However, I only registered the colors and shapes in my unconscious mind. Consciously, I just noticed that the night was beautiful and spent a few seconds marveling at it. Then, I noticed the silence. Next, I was too busy running around with a phone as a makeshift flashlight trying to find flowers, so I didn't notice anything abstract. Finally, I got too cold and didn't want to get bitten by mosquitoes, so I made do with the green onions and went back into my cozy home. It hadn't seemed that cozy and welcoming for a long time because it had slowly faded into the background, as is easy for literal background to do. I guess it can be better to think of home as a safe place and destination so that you're happy to be there instead of indifferent because it's just the background. A lot of stories probably end with this sentence, so here it is: I was glad to be home. Side note: Part of this story is sarcastic. I only wish to make hope more meaningful by showing that anyone, even if they're feeling angry or cynical, can find that hope.
Flowers and Silences The dim darkness-the diffused light-dimness of one merging into the other-imparting more length to the long trees that are standing like stretched out shadows wearing stars in their hair- silence is imparting more depth to the darkness in this advaita where darkness is merged into silence, my mind wakes up, now not only sound but even a ray of light is a violent disturbance to the profoundness of peace- in such moments deep truths unveil themselves-now I realize it is not sound but in silence melody lives- I am born out of flowers and silences- while passing my hand brushed against a flower, I asked 'are you bruised? ‘‘Me or you' smiling, the flower questioned back- the heart of my pen broke and split blood; - I do not know which paper can bear this pen- In the gigantic silences of forests, which touch the blue skies, the carpenter bird pecks at the trunks of great trees which echo, far reaching sounds-what can he do among the tiny crotons? I ate days like fruits-now I eat drops of tears like grapes- frightened by the sun took refuge under shades-sitting on the pavement eating dreams from eyes like ice cream with spoons- measuring my life with dark evenings- I distributed my wealth once with metres, now I scatter with handfuls my future letting it fly in all directions-I washed my heart in tears and dried it over poetry- walked past wearing people on my body like shawls-in the assemblies of flames; in countries abroad I raised my gypsy voice and sang mixing earth and sky- this country is the graveyard of my genius- however fast I walk the distance remains the same. This land is thirsty for my blood, it is snoring in the little shades of pigmy trees- I picked my pen and dipped it in the sun to write a summer song for my nation- - Seshendra Sharma http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com
Light Space Time 10th Annual “Botanicals” Online Art Competition of 844 international entries included “Broach" and "Monet Liliaceae 2" awarded Special Merit after top 15 artists “Broach” features Jasmine taken recently in Knopp Park nestled in Little Rock, AR just as the sun was rising while birds sang and lovely people welcomed to me to their neighborhood walk. “Monet Liliaceae 2” is inspired hy Monet's impressionism and features a field of tulips also known as liliaceae “Only Iris for You" placed Special Recognition after this category “Only Iris For You” also recently came from Knopp Park. I was fortunate enough to see this lovely Iris at its peak. “The gallery also included Special Merit awards and Special Recognition awards for outstanding art. Many of the artists in either of these groups could have easily been included in the upper tier of our winners, as their art was also exceptional.”
the tiniest hint of yellow reminds me of the sun on a summer day. the days where when we were younger would be filled with cookouts. adults sat on the porch, ice cold beers in hand and we sat on the grass, knees scraped up and hair slightly askew from a long day of mishap. i look at you -- yellow really was made for dark skin. those summer days were occupied with you practicing your mezzo soprano and myself sat upon the piano. the sun got lower as i pressed the keys and you belted out. the room became painted with a warm orange and our faces stained pink from the sky; the white clouds lowered. the sky is coming down and we're laid across a blanket that was placed on dewy strands of grass. it's just me, you and some rain. the tiniest hint of blue reminds me of the sky on summer nights. the nights where when we were older featured us talking about awry subjects. my head would fall onto your shoulder because the night was taking over me; my eyelids would droop, but they never closed because you wanted me awake with you. you look at me -- blue really was made for pale skin. those summer nights were never-ending because we couldn't fall asleep. it was three a.m. and your bedroom walls were coated in a deep blue, our faces illuminated by moonlight; the white clouds finally disappeared. 'my flowers remind me of summer days and yours remind me of summer nights, it matches'