Flowers
“Do you want to visit a flower seeding ground?” Atlanta asks back when I ask if I can twice copy the language-of-flowers book.
“No need to copy the book. We can buy two of it on the way,” she says when I give her my ascent.
“Buy?” I mouth, puzzled. But I am soon distracted, as she shows me pictures of small flowering vines, bushes and trees arrayed on racks, beds and vertically cylindrical things called “pipes.”
The varieties of the flowers should not surprise me, by now, but they still do.
And, even though we must take a two-hour ride in yet another “bus,” the destination alleviates my discomfort thoroughly.
Colours, shapes and fragrances mingle with each other in a chaotic but beautiful mess, all within a not-too-cool, not-too-hot transparent structure called a “greenhouse.” I do my best to slip in-between the many greeneries, relishing in “swimming” amidst the blooms.
This time, my spell-born child stature and my native androgynous looks truly benefit me, as well as being in a realm where mentions of the Asgardians must have faded long ago, and I am glad of it.
Better yet, I get a crown of fresh flowers at the end!