35 Petal Pusher Love, Walden, Tennessee

(Image, May 2004 © 2005 M. Childers)

Our neighbor friends, Ginnie and David Harris, gave us a bulb from one of their Amaryllis flowers in a special pot that he had made. For the longest time, the pot sat on an oak table in our sunroom slowly putting out two, then three, long spatulated leaves. I didn't notice much change until one morning after breakfast I felt this intense happening somewhere, like the sound of a breathy saxophone solo from a bluesman under a lone streetlamp across the tracks on a hot sultry night.

I turned around to see the amaryllis in our sunroom had bloomed and was doing things with color that would make red a controlled substance complete with a surgeon general's warning.

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