one without the other

I rip pages out and make folds for cards for Kundalini. The only Buddha in southern california. For the amount of flowers she recieves it is no suprise that she would have my first arrangement in her house somewhere. I imagine instead of food in an child's stomach the flowers are comforting to her. I suppose each day is a new birth, a new bouquet. But I've made this analogy already so many times- It's what I do for six to seven hours every day. Two ladies turtledoves really, stop and smile at the gerbera daisies, who brightly smile back. They explain by saying "We're not gardeners, we're French." The daisies are so colorful and bright. I think of what France is like and tell them But of course in French- to them this is normal and they don't realize my effort to strike a conversation.
Earlier I made an arrangement for a death.
Tuberose and three bright red Gerberas. "Funny," I tell the woman, who struggles to communicate silently her despair to a complete stranger, " the myriad of bouquets I make and the only two occasions people find reason in purchasing them: Celebration, and Death."
I realize later, when I am alone that these two emotions are inherently intertwined with one another. If there was only one, the other would cease to be. And flowers also.

for now,
J