The flower, which last night was just a pregnant button, opened its petals at dawn and flooded the room with its fragrance. The dim light of the rising sun began to illuminate it. A stillness encompassed all the space and objects around it: the armchair upholstered in blue, the round table of red wood and white marble, two wicker chairs, the old sofa, a bookshelf with glass doors. The girl who slept on the sofa, covered with a golden blanket, breathing so faintly that she seemed to form a part of the inert objects. So thought the flower! It felt the two leaves that adorned its stem stretch and, looking down, watched them briefly. They stared back with a tinge of sadness. Flower and leaves longed for dewdrops and wind. An unnerving thirst began to torment it. The girl moved and stretched her arms. The movement drew the bedspread that covered her and revealed one of her shoulders as golden as the gold of the quilt. Then she opened her eyes and a blue light, as strong as the sun, lit up the flower, making it look metallic. It looked with her new color and a sense of vanity seized it. It was a different flower.
December 31 2010
