The World Inside the Flower
As I wonder at the yellow sight, bursting with life, jumping out from within creating long and curved petals streaming out brilliantly like many moons made of cheese.
As I examine the complexity of the flower I realize it is not moons of cheese, but really a fireball of fierce rays shedding their discharge, blinding the watcher instantly into a world of color and illumination.
It becomes a lion, its soft furry mane flowing about it face with the blood and saliva from previous meals matted in the hair, clotting it.
As I delve further into my imagination it is not a lion, a fireball, nor moons of cheese, but instead suddenly tail feathers of a black blahblah bird who’s outer appearance is less than spectacular, until you see its bright shockingly uniform golden tail removes the dull appearance of the later half of the bird.
Then it is like a cotton ball on the tip of a stick used by a slob newly converted from an unkempt lifestyle.
I continue to peer at the flower and a pulse of energy regulates itself into a thought and suddenly my imagination gets the best of me and the flower is no longer a flower but merely plastic cheerleader pom-poms made from the centers of banana trees.
And it is a dandelion swaying in the summer breeze.
And it is a pine cone painted for a festival absorbing the cotton candy stand, the caramel popcorn popping without a moments notice, the hot dogs being made before your eyes meticulously made to meet your order, the clowns juggling five bowling pins, the funny fat man being dunked by a softball, the jail capturing the prying parents into a solitude for an endless time, the Farris Wheel spinning round and round, all while the pine cone lies there watching.
And it is like curly hair on a kindergartner swishing back and forth in a rhythmic motion as he runs around the familiar playground, swinging on the monkey bars, climbing the jungle gym, crawling through the dark and endless tunnel, swinging higher and higher on the swings, throwing sand in your friends eyes and laughing.
And I am brought back out of my childish imagination and once again realize I simply looking at an ordinary flower.