fresh rhythms

Bearded irises

periwinkle, royal purple, blush violet beauties called venita faye.

We can see them from our bathroom window

while showering.

The other morning, a thorny bush, also in view, sprouted divine alabaster roses. Lemon stamens, tiny fireworks.

Rose canina, wild rose, dog rose, the screens tell me.

I lose focus easily, blame it on being pregnant. But with this comes a blankness, a canvas painted by the tulips poppies fennel rhubarb around me. Sure, I might forget to scrub mud off my calves. Might forget to charge my phone, miss a meeting. But I also might daydream into the rosebush.

This house, this garden, my growing belly, my lowering tolerance for bullshit, my increasing empathy,

but really,

the man of it all.

Yes,

I can focus.