0013 Pink Without Think

My friend the gardener who manages to combine romantic or ex-romantic with realist and fine poet and loving gardener and teacher and much else, harmoniously, points out to me that the pink geranium swinging gently in its hanging basket in the late September sun, with an effusive burst of flowering which it alternates with exhausted, barely green recovery and dry stalk, puts on this display simply (simply!) to attract insects to accidentally (accidentally!) aid it to propagate its species.. so I, who am nothing to it except perhaps a passing Samaritan who gives it water in a thirsty summer and, perhaps irrelevantly, perhaps from deeper cause, received just now a shout of pure pinkness from it so that my senses thrilled, passed the message uncommented to what seemed like my purest being, am indeed attracted, my nature to that of it, animal or human I’ll leave others to decide, and from that vaguest of cosmic relevance intend to see it through the winter to the birth of Spring or spring of birth with what - my gardener friend - may well be love