blossom

“Blossom” is one of my faaaaaavorite Saves The Day songs that will never be played live – ever. But I love it so. The riff, is something gnawingly righteous that grips me right in the feels. It’s a B-Side to my favorite record, In Reverie. I have the 45″ record upstairs and it is one of my most prized possessions. I should teach myself how to play it. I admit that I did snag the record on eBay, though I’m not sure how much I paid for it. I actually don’t think the price was that bad. But when it came and I held it in my hands and I played in back on my turntable, I was near tears. I think I had first heard the song when I was more active on Tumblr; Someone had posted it and I was enthralled having never heard it before. After doing some quick research, I realized it was an In Reverie B-Side. Magical record, pure magic.

I’ve always considered myself a late bloomer, and I am a late bloomer then that makes me a blossom. We are all blossoms, just like we are all heroes in our own Hero’s Journey. It’s this first-person perspective of being and becoming, death and rebirth. We are fertile dirt with memories of our past selves, but each year is a new seed or something. Have you ever watched some timelapse or stopmotion photography of nature? When that flower finally bursts open and blooms, it is triumphant worthy of brass fanfare. The sweet smelling nectar that must waft through that wilderness that cannot be smelled through my television set. My dad said something the other day about TVs of the future are probably going to be able to transmit smells and I suddenly got scared, just at the idea. Have you ever read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World? It’s a scary thought! If you haven’t, you definitely have time to now. A classic, wonderful, frightening read. I really wanted to see this musical last month that was supposed to play in Lincoln Center. The name is escaping me, but it was able Aldous Huxley, Cary Grant, and … someone else, a woman I was not familiar with – all taking an LSD trip together. It seemed like a hoot. Alas – quarantine.

A late bloomer like me may burst open in the midst of a snowstorm, and although death may be certain, or expected, I do not die, but go on living for the thrill of being alive, of a being a flower, awake, in the dead of winter. I can feel the cold promise of next season. I can feel the cold promise of now. And that expected howl of wind whipping through branches and telephone wires, those gusts hitting up against the house. The blossoming of a flower is like eyes opening; awareness.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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