Picked white flowers fallen on the rain-soaked road on a breezy post-shower evening.
Walked all alone with myself, breathed in the sweet smell of wet mud, and sighed.
As the skies got darker, and so did all the colours of nature around me, I saw the miracle and the life that exists in that changing.
Life exists in changing.
I was alone, and I felt safe in my arms and in my mind.
I looked around, and for a moment, I felt like an invisible particle of the universe, something that existed only to observe and rejoice in the observation.
Then when I closed my eyes and looked nowhere, I felt that what was inside me was the centre of the universe.
I held those flowers together in my muddy hands. I felt the graininess of the moist soil on my fingers. The graininess, that which I came from.
I saw with magnifying eyes, traces of earth, black and brown, sprinkled and smeared across those pretty little whitelings.
What beauty in imperfection! I thought.
I caressed their petals, as the thought caressed my soul.