A Smattering of Jonquils

I thought it was an aberration, some kind of warty Fall augur. Bone white stalks shooting up in the shady corner of the garden, harbinger of ill will, of cold and of rain, just at the nostalgic incandesence of the last sighs of Summer. The air has gone heavy and the trees fulsome, I feel the undercurrents of seasons waxing and waning in the disparate strata, the dewy cool beneath the heat of a honeyed afternoon sun, it's unspeakably glorious. And so rise this smattering of late season jonquils, verging strumpet virgin pink, they arch in the shade, they make me happy.

It's funny, but I think I may have found salvation in a television commercial. Or maybe it's just modern american life, spoon fed a mind-numbingly simple idea (and somehow in my state, no less than redemptive) in less than sixty seconds and I'd like a credit card and a dress that I have no occaision to wear to go with that please. I may or may not have more to say on that later, but I need to cogitate some more. I've been cogitating already for a week, I am on stand-by for the epiphany I am almost certain will not come, at least not by way of my shrill summons. Epiphany, much like miracles are subtle things, they come at you sideways and are best left to wingnuts and theologians.