today as I walked to
the farmer's market
I dropped off a
borrowed book
into the free little library,
upon which a tall
man wearing a red
shirt with burgundy sweat
stains exclaimed:
"T.S. Eliot! Nice!"
and thanked me for
my contribution.

In the checkout line
the young girl behind
the scale said "it's a
yellow one, you know" as
I held a small watermelon
in my arms, cradled
like a gift, which it was.
A surprising gift.

Past the peaches my
eyes were pulled to
a bunch of wildflowers
yellow, orange, lime green
and pink, so much color
I nearly squinted at
the bundle which before
I knew it was under
my other arm across
from my watermelon surprise.

Flowers. For a long time
I struggled to understand the
indulgence of them, the
reckless exchange of money for
a sight that in only days
will die.

And then, I looked. I saw.
One petal was worth my
whole wallet just to watch
its final dying days.