Flowers blossom and bloom to the tune of Goo Goo Dolls playing on the radio, back when the radio was good and tolerable and understood. I turn on the radio now and my soul cannot settle. Everything is foreign to me and it’s not a matter of giving it a chance. I will sometimes find an interesting blues and jazz station, a good mariachi station. These tunes are interesting, compelling, express the human soul. But despite triumphs in production and collaboration Pop music to me today is predictable and snoozeworthy. When will I blossom and show my petals to the world and reach my apex peak? When will the moment come and will I know it when it does? What if it happens all the time? And the lie, the illusion is that it happens once? I think that’s the answer. Flowers don’t just bloom once. They bloom, they die, and come back again in spring and summer and sometimes their seeds get scattered over fertile dirtways and get watered by deep, rich booming thunderstorms on nights when you’re in love with yourself and a bottle of wine, taking down your hair at the end of the night, listening to soft jazz music and kicking off your work shoes. We can all make ourselves feel beautiful. Though sometimes it’s nice to lean on a tree, I can stand up straight all by myself, thanks. Gardening through my minefield thought process.
