Fawn’s Orange Flower

It is a sun. It is a whirling dervish. It spins like a top at a rate we can only see as still. Solar flare. Burning up in ecstasy.

We rolled like logs while orange flowers spun in place like whirling dervishes. Who started this game of spinning?

An arboretum is a daycare for lost trees, separated from their families. A Chinese behemoth grows for one hundred years. A ballet of rose bushes stands poised in a garden.

We wander the paths and off the paths. Why do we visit? There are trees requiring no tickets. We go because the fence demarcates permission to simply enjoy.

All life is on display. Perhaps we should purchase tickets each morning.