Food, fire, walks, dreams, cold, sleep, love, slowness, time, quiet, books, seasons – all these things, which are not really things, but moments of life – take on a different quality at night-time, where the moon reflects the light of the sun, and we have time to reflect what life is to us, knowing that it passes, and that every bit of it, in its change and its difference, is the here and now of what we have.

∆ Jeanette Winterson, Darkness is the time to think, to dream, to love …
October 31st, 2016

"[I]n the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship…is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. … Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out."

This is what I like most of all in flowers: paradoxically, their endurance. The impression they give of a power in time, disseminated in space. Their seed-bomb aspect. The movement toward the future this includes and brings to mind. The bomb-about-to-go-off side of them, the awareness of their power, of their seed-charge. This, glorious and touching, frail and disarming all at once. The ephemeral bubble aspect, the fireworks of generosity, specific or familial, volleys of possibility, promises of generation…