i was walking behind our house, picking up sticks from the storm, when i noticed it. at first, it was only a glimmer. a tinge of magenta against brick. then i walked closer and saw it. our azalea bush. pregnant with beautiful blooms. the bush that was here when this house's original owners were. the one they planted in the ground. and i missed its opening act. and it's strange, but something so beautiful stirred in me such a sadness.
that life's going by like a movie, and i'm stuck in the theater holding stale popcorn. sometimes it just hits me. how breathtaking, achingly beautiful this life is. and how often i'm indoors. how the azalea put on a show for me and i missed all but the finale.
and morning by morning, the soul returns.