It was too early
It was too early on a Sunday
It was far too
early on a Sunday morning for a bunch of roses..
What was he thinking: a bunch of roses so big that only his
receding fringe and newly-acquired waistline were showing either side of them! Could it be just a thank you? ..or was it a going-away gift?…or the first step in a process
of courtship?
Two dozen pink stems spreading out from the elegant
gold tie. No last minute hopeful garage dash: this was planned if
not predictable
Whatever; it was far too early...
She was temporarily
back at the family home and this undetermined gap between jobs and relationships
allowed for new thinking and new possibilities; but this potential avenue for
experiences was unexpected and exciting; but worse: might awaken dad, and even worse, the suspicions of mum..
Maybe mum could
help with finding the true intentions of this suitor and would he suit her... but the sound of fat tyres on gravel, a dog woken, unfamiliar voices in the kitchen, a hurriedly-concocted coffee were all still
too early for a Sunday morning.
She had been warned... did he come with his DNA inbred suitor suite of activities? ... her
women friends observing but not participating could form an advisory alliance
together, but should she just let nature flow? ... let her feelings guide her way?... embark
on a new relationship to exorcise the last one?
Was she just
another make in his Haynes manual to women?
An orderly male mechanical process?... the flowers, the
poetry, the nature walks, the themes in common?... Was this human-mechanical-biological, or a naked-ape justification of his own
behaviour: the stag enticing the does?... she was doe eyed... and young and on his
patch...
The fresh petals made a new medium for her; ground in
a mortar and pestle mixed with liquid; strained through muslin a new pigment
was conceived.
The stems went on the compost heap..
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