These resilient flowers (I don’t know where they came from, did not plant them myself) are perfect to ponder when one’s brain is a brick, one’s creativity having run off with one’s sleep having run off with one’s “buck-up, Buffy!” approach to certain worries. Flowers, arriving. Flowers thriving in cement-hard dirt. Overnight: flowers. Voila! I stop, study them, sniff centers, sneeze. Thank you for choosing my rose garden, Naked Ladies. Give me a poem, stay awhile. Breathe.