Simple Pleasure
Several months ago, I had a small get together at my house. To decorate, I bought cut flowers, put them in a vase, and set them on the island in my kitchen. My guests enjoyed them. Afterwards, I left them out until they started to wilt. Then I decided to replace them. I’ve had cut flowers on my island in my kitchen every day since then.
I buy the flowers at a supermarket where I shop. The colors depend on what’s available. Today they’re yellow. The last batch was purple. I’ve had white. I’ve mixed colors as well, trying my best to add a design flair to the process. I have no idea if it works, except that it pleases me. I imagine I’ll continue putting out flowers until one day I decide to stop. What most likely will happen, however, is that I’ll simply forget to buy them.
Of course, it could go on forever and I’d become known as the man with cut flowers. But I think I might need more company for that to happen. Most likely, if it does continue, it will only mean something to me. A private, simple pleasure. A thing that will disappear when I disappear along with all those other pleasures, the books I’ve read, the music I’ve heard, and the kisses I’ve tasted and savored.