Short Story 3 : The Indecent Girl.

Story Theme : Stereotyping 

A stereotype is a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image of a particular type of person or thing. 

In social pathology, a stereotype is any thought widely adopted about specific types of individuals or certain ways of behaviour, intended to represent the entire group of those individuals or behaviours as a whole.

Stereotypes reflect expectations and beliefs about the characteristics of members of groups perceived as different from one’s own. They are a cognitive component and often occurs without conscious awareness.

In literature and art, stereotypes are clichéd or predictable characters or situations. 

Storytellers have drawn from stereotypical characters and situations to immediately connect the audience with new tales, throughout history.

This short story is an attempt to base a work of fiction on a few typical gender stereotypes that plague our society.

*****

The Indecent Girl

‘Look at that skirt! Oh God...Just look at it! I can’t believe this!’ Shashi’s voice held shocked disbelief. ‘And that top is too tight! She looks so…’ He was at a loss for words.

Suman tugged her tight outfit a little lower over her exposed thighs, as she turned to smile up at the guy next to her. Her long silver earrings twinkled like stars, as they reflected light from the neon bulbs of the wide corridor. She said something that made the guy wink at her and let out a guffaw. She threw back her head to laugh and her thick mane glistened, swirling in velvet waves around the pale, bare skin of her petite shoulders.

‘Cheap da…she looks cheap and slutty.’ Rakesh completed Shashi’s sentence for him. ‘And look at the way she’s flirting with him…he is thoroughly enjoying the view she’s offering him through that plunging neckline…’ he added for good measure.

They followed Suman and her companion from a discreet distance & saw them head towards the elevator. Just as she was about to get onto it, she seemed to trip on her heels and the tall guy snaked his arm around her waist to steady her. Her tight skirt rode a couple of inches higher as the elevator made its languid ascent to the top-most floor of Garuda mall.

‘I can’t believe this!’ The loquacious Shashi seemed to have lost his usually extensive vocabulary. ‘I just can’t believe this, da!’ he repeated for the umpteenth time in the past half hour.

They got on to the elevator and turned in the opposite direction when they reached the top floor, to avoid being seen by Suman, while they still scrutinized their targets in subtle detail. Suman now stood with him in the short queue at the ticketing counter of the multiplex.

Shashi didn’t miss the lecherous looks from the numerous males and the envious glances from the females, that Suman invited as she walked with slow grace towards the arched gate of Screen 2. She slipped her hand casually into the hook of the guy’s elbow, chatting animatedly with him, as they passed through the entrance. Shashi seethed as he noticed a firm breast within the taut fabric of her halter, grace his arm as the lanky fellow turned to let her precede him…

***

‘I always knew she is that kind of girl, bro!’ Rakesh smirked.’ Didn’t I tell you? All these north Indian girls are like that only da!’

‘I can’t believe she did this yaar!’ Shashi tried to control his sobs. ‘I love her!’

They were now seated at the booze joint on the third floor, nursing icy Kingfishers.

‘Haha…I always told you she was not the right girl for you! Do you know she even tried to hook me too in the beginning? I never told you how much she used to flirt with me, because you liked her so much...’ Rakesh tried to induce a piousness that he did not feel, into his tone. ‘Of course, I ignored her completely until she tied the rakhi, you know…’

‘How could she have done this to me, yaar? How?’

‘Dump her da, just dump her…’ Rakesh replied. ‘Such girls don’t deserve love from guys like us…’

‘She even agreed that we could get married after we completed our degree da!’

‘Yeah, and you believed her? Such girls will roam around with all the other rascals and then marry good fellows like us when they want to settle down da…they want all these rich fellows to enjoy and loaf around with and then get married to seedha-saadha types like you..’

‘How could she have gone to watch such a movie with that…that fellow yaar. It seems it is a blue film with all kinds of lousy scenes you know…and she never told me she drinks! Imagine yaar, she was aaraamse boozing with that fellow…’

‘Yaar, I’m telling you such girls will do everything before they get married…you can’t trust such females to be loyal to you after marriage also…’

‘I thought she was a good, decent girl da!’ Shashi’s voice began to break.

‘Then why did she wear a dress like that and go with some random fellow to watch a movie like ‘50 shades of Grey’? God knows what all they both did, sitting inside that dark theatre, da! Do good girls do such things, tell me?’

‘I had planned to watch it with her on our honeymoon da! Now my life is over…just over…’ Shashi began to sob.

‘Just imagine what would have happened if you had taken her to your parents! Your Amma would have freaked out if she came to know that her future daughter-in-law wears such indecent clothes and goes to watch sex movies with paraaiah men!’ Rakesh’s voice held suppressed elation that Shashi didn’t notice in his state of melancholy.

Rakesh tried hard to mask the glee he felt at his friend’s misfortune. He reveled in bliss as his words added fuel to the flame raging in Shashi’s mind.

After all, it had taken herculean strength for Rakesh to watch the girl of his dreams fall in love with his best friend. It had taken immense self-control to watch the love blossom and grow between them for the last two years, while his heart ached for her. 

It had taken Rakesh daily Google counseling for a month, to deal with the shock of having the only beauty among the five females in Mechanical Engineering class of BMT Engineering college, call him Bhaiyya and tie a rakhi on his wrist on that fateful day last year.

And now, all of that had come to a fitting end. This evening, they had watched Suman slip into the gleaming silver Audi outside her PG, when they had gone to meet her as usual. It was customary for Rakesh to accompany Shashi in the evenings on the pretext of dropping his friend to her PG. That way, he could get a glimpse of Suman, sometimes even a smile and a wave from her, before he took off to his place.

Today, however, had been different. Shashi had called Suman to tell her that he wouldn’t be coming over. He’d wanted to surprise her with a bouquet of her favourite roses and Swiss chocolates, before he broke the good news to her. He’d expected her to swoon at his feet when he told her that he'd finally cleared all the arrears from the first two years of B.E. and had only three more subjects left to pass. 

Everything had turned topsy-turvy though, when they saw the docile girl who only wore only churidaars to college, emerge from her PG building, clad in a short black skirt, a bright red halter top and 3-inch black stilettos. The same girl who wore flat slippers coupled with two oily braids to college, had let her hair down, and how!

They had followed her into the mall and watched the tall guy joke with her as they proceeded to watch the biggest blue movie of the year. They had waited in the mall till the movie was over, when a fretting Shashi nursed his broken heart, while Rakesh secretly rejoiced in his friend’s misfortune. They had then followed the couple surreptitiously to the restaurant in the food-court and watched them order a Mojito each.

And now, 26 hours later, they sat on the stone bench on the terrace of his rented room, trying to discuss the future course of events.

Just then, Shashi’s blackberry began to buzz.

He switched on the speaker phone and Rakesh watched his face rearrange itself in the appropriate expression of indignant anger, before answering ‘Yes, Suman? What is it?’

‘Hey Shashi, why are you avoiding me? You haven’t picked up my calls since last evening. You know I wanted to tell you, I had gone out with my cousin brother yesterday…u remember I told you he is coming from the US, na?

You won’t believe, he had bought a new dress as a gift for me and convinced me to try it out. I wore a skirt for the first time in my life, Rakesh…I think you will love me more in western outfits…he was teasing me endlessly for being so self-conscious…’ her voice took on a shy overture while she said this, before she continued, ‘And you know, he didn’t know that I don’t drink and bought me something that I thought was juice and then wondered why it tasted so funny…’

Suman paused to catch her breath, before she went on, ‘The worst part was, we didn’t get tickets to the Hindi movie we’d planned to watch, so we ended up with some horribly cheap English one…’ Suman’s voice trailed off, in what seemed to be embarrassment.

‘Cousin Brother? Did u say Brother? I love you, baby,’ Shashi exhaled in a rush of emotion as he wiped tears of joy, while a gobsmacked Rakesh looked on, in intense disappointment.

*****

Women have been the targets of innumerable stereotypes from times immemorial, ranging from the usual victimizing to the incredibly weird. Some of the common stereotypes I’ve tried to inculcate in the story are:

• Girls who wear short dresses and/or drink alcohol have a questionable character.

• Boys don’t cry.

• Close friends always want the best for their buddies. They would gladly give up their love-mates for friendship. (Bollywood influence, perhaps?)

• People who are from a different place, with a different culture cannot be trusted.

• If a girl watches an adult movie with a guy, she is of questionable character and unworthy of trust.

• If a girl hangs out with a guy who isn’t related to her by blood or marriage, she is in a questionable relationship with him.

*****

Chick in a flower

A little baby chick, peeking out from its deep enclosure, from within folds of fluffy-soft secure plumage...can you spot it? 

Nature never ceases to amaze.

This is a male Pumpkin flower in my garden, waiting for his female to bloom for him...

I was enthralled to recognize two little 'eyes', a cute, round 'nose' in a chick-like apparition from deep within the flower.

I love clicking macro shots, because they always divulge hidden wonders to us, that we normally wouldn't notice otherwise. I'd never have seen what the lens revealed to me, until I zoomed into the picture I'd casually captured.

Short Story 2 : The Hatred

'Love at first sight'? That's so passé.

 ‘Hate at first sight’ is more of a reality.

We sometimes meet people whom we dislike at once, for no obvious reason. The intolerable presence of the person kills us till we are compelled to be in his/her vicinity. 

As our annoyance soars, we may begin to fabricate plans to bully, abstain or even kill him/her for no apparent reason.

However, studies indicate that hatred arises with a definite reason, in the subconscious mind. It is said that when we hate someone, we think more and consequently, our analysis turns out with better clarity.

***

Short Story - The Hatred.

He wore a red shirt. Not the kind of red that gives out a pleasant sense of positive energy or power. It was the kind of red that jars the senses and hurts the eyes.

I wanted to look away, but couldn’t. He must have seen me watching him. Or maybe I noticed him ogling at me, with neither a sense of hesitation nor shame, for such a long time. His shirt had pale white buttons on it. Strange though as it may seem, I have no recollection of anything else about his attire. Was he wearing blue jeans or black, or even yellow? I didn’t notice.

All I remember is the extreme reaction I had when I set my eyes on his thin face. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and almost looked away. Almost. Because as I mentioned earlier, I couldn’t look away.

His light brown eyes, bored into mine with no sense of inhibition, whatsoever. A smile played across his slightly parted, thin lips. The expression on his face seemed to beckon to me and say, ‘Hey, let’s talk.’

I couldn’t fathom what it was about him that made me want to…slap him. Yes, all I wanted to do was slap that smirk right off his face.

He wasn’t good-looking, oh no! Well, he wasn’t ugly either. Perhaps some girls would find that French beard (or whatever that tuft of hair on the chin is referred to) attractive. It just made me want to wring his neck.

‘Joel! Oye Joel!’

Someone called out to him from a few feet behind me. He waved at that someone, shifting his eyes for just a second to acknowledge whoever it was, and got back ogling at me. He ran his left hand across his hair, in a manner that suggested that he clearly thought of it as a cool gesture. But all it did was, bring my attention to his ugly hair. That mop of curls on his egg-shaped oily head was downright disgusting.

Don’t get me wrong! I have nothing against curly hair. On the contrary, I think curly haired guys are rather cute. Well, some guys, at least. Not this one, though.

I finally tore my eyes away from his lanky frame and picked up my backpack from the floor where I’d placed it earlier. I returned to the classroom with a frown that earned several surprised stares from my new classmates.

Who was that asshole? Joel. Alright, who was that asshole called Joel? I settled down, as usual, in the last bench, to enjoy my favourite English class. The first month of college had seemed pleasant and enjoyable, until then. Not anymore, though. The ‘red-shirt fellow’ had ruined the day for me.

***

Three days later, I was rushing to the Zoology lab for the practical session. I pondered why the zoo prats were strategically scheduled right after the lunch hour, on Thursday afternoons. I wondered what poor animal was due to get mutilated that day under our inexperienced instruments. I shuddered when I thought of the gory black leeches we’d had to deal with two weeks ago. One of the guys with a weak stomach had thrown up his Biryani-lunch all over his specimen, when the blood had begun to ooze out of the chosen predatory worm of the wild. That was one ‘Yikes’ moment all of us would remember for a lifetime.

I chuckled when I recalled the incident with Kamal that had left us in splits the previous week, when we had dissected wild frogs. Kamal was the undisputed hunk of our class, with the six-pack abs and musculature that had half of the girls in our section swooning in adoration. The adoration had received a severe beating, however, when he had shot out of his seat with a terrified yelp, when the gigantic black pond amphibian, sedated with chloroform, was placed in the steel tray in front of him. He turned out to be the only student that day, who’d been unable to even touch the unconscious specimen, let alone gorge out the huge yellow eyes off the creature, to locate the optic nerve.

I was still trying to bite back my smile, when I stopped short at the landing of the stairs that led to the third floor. My friends, Varsha and Rashmi were talking to him. Him, that disgusting red-shirt fellow! Well, he was wearing an ugly green shirt today. I love green, mind you, but then it was a disgrace to the beautiful colour, when it was worn by someone like him.

‘Yuk!’ I thought. ‘What’s gotten into these females today? Why on earth would they even look at, let alone talk to a guy like that!’

I fumed inwardly when I saw Varsha laugh at something he said. She saw me then, and waved to me.

Oh no! I panicked. I had to get away before he spotted me. But, it was too late. He’d seen me too. He smirked then, in obvious enjoyment of his display of winning humor that seemed to charm my friends. I had a vivid vision of digging my dissection knife onto his face, plucking his eyes away from the sockets with my forceps and finally gorging them out savagely with my scalpel, like I had done to that poor dumb frog, last week.

And before I could turn away and make my escape, he waved to me and called out ‘Hiiiii Roma!’

I could have killed Varsha then! How could she have told this horrid fellow my name? How dare he use it so flippantly, calling out to me as if we were…friends?! My name, my beautiful name, coming from him sounded absolutely degrading!

I seethed in disgust and turned on my heel, the zoo prats forgotten. I heard Varsha’s high pitched voice and Rashmi’s low pitched one, crying out to me frantically. I ignored the receding sound of my name being called and hurried down two flights of stairs, blindly heading for the library, my only place of solace in the whole building.

***

‘But, he is a nice guy! What the hell is wrong with you? How can you hate someone you don’t even know? You haven’t even met him properly, nor have you even spoken to him…and he likes you so much!’ Varsha’s face held a mixture of utter confusion and controlled anger.

Varsha and Rashmi had searched far and wide, all over the college and finally found me seated in the far corner of the canteen, sipping cold coffee.

 ‘Don’t you dare talk about him to me!’ I yelled. ‘I hate that asshole and I’ll kill you if you ever tell him anything about me again!’

I saw her recoil in shock and regretted my outburst. Why was I overreacting so much? After all, she was my friend and meant no harm. I tried to hold back sudden tears that threatened to escape my lids and attempted a flimsy apology with a ‘Sorry…it’s not your fault…’

Varsha, the sweetheart that she was, tried to console me at once.

‘What’s wrong with what I did, yaar? I didn’t tell him anything personal about you, ok? Relax…’ she tried to soothe me. ‘Tell me, why do you hate him so much? There is no reason for you to overreact like this…’

I didn’t reply.  I silently wiped away the tears that had begun to flow down my cheeks with the back of my hand.

‘I’ve known Joel from the past four years, yaar. He was my senior in National Public School...’ Rashmi chimed in, as if to corroborate Varsha’s statement about the extremity of my behavior.

‘I don’t know! I just hate such guys!’ I finally erupted, my anger resurfacing at the disdainful expression on Rashmi’s face.

‘Such guys, matlab? He is a decent guy from a good family!’

‘Decent, my foot! Decent guys don’t behave this way!’

‘What way? You are so irrational, Roma!’ Rashmi gave me a look of disbelieving disgust.

‘Oh, go to hell!’ I stormed out of the canteen, without a backward glance.

***

Late that night, I lay awake tossing in bed, as the events of the day played over and over in my mind like a rewinding videotape. I knew I had to apologize to both my friends. But then, I’d have to tell them the reason for my anger in the first place, the reason behind my ‘irrational’ hatred of a complete stranger.

So, why did I hate him?

I finally allowed my mind to dwell on what I’d been avoiding to analyze until then. What was it about him that made my blood boil when I looked at him?

His eyes, I realized. His eyes had the expression that made me cringe with revulsion. It was the kind of expression that made girls want to adjust their veils over their breasts, to shield them from gawking eyeballs. It was the kind of expression that made women feel insecure in a crowd. It was the kind of expression that made women feel exposed, even when covered from head to toe.

I knew the exact reason for the intense hatred, that Joel evoked from every cell of my being, which made me want to murder him the minute I sighted him.

I might’ve been able to ignore the loud, gross clothes he fancied wearing. I’d be able to overlook all that oil in his hair that gave him the personality of a slimy creep. I’d even be able to forgive the cocky impudence in his demeanor, at his assumption that a convent-educated girl like me would actually give two hoots about a scoundrel like him.

But, few girls would forget or forgive an unfamiliar, unknown person, who had neither a sense of self-control nor the decency, to keep the blatant lust from showing in his eyes. Yes, it was the unconcealed lust in Joel’s eyes that made me flinch away from him in abhorrence. Joel, the boy, had the eyes of a predator.

I felt no guilt or coyness whatsoever, when I decided to tell my friends why I hate Joel.  I knew then, that I would hate him for the rest of my life.

I turned off the bed lamp on the table next to my cot and turned over to retire for the night, my heart lighter from a burden removed, and my mind in relative tranquility.

*** *** ***

The Betrayal - A poem.

In the vicious grip of a nightmarish dream,

far beyond the grasp of reality’s realm,

I thrash my limbs in a silent scream;

My eyes are on fire, with every unshed tear,

as I fight a nocturnal war, with demons that jeer,

I’m jolted awake, frozen in crippling fear;

I jerk up among tangled sheets, in a tormented rush,

every pore of my skin has released a toxic flush,

I muffle my sobs, as my heart whispers ‘Hush, baby, hush!’

Why, oh why, did I give him such power?

I’d ignored the signs, when the relationship had begun to sour;

Hadn’t I always known that he wasn’t a worthy lover?

My restrained sighs revolve around his betrayal,

I’m left breathless, wasn’t my love true and loyal?

My mind reels in an orbit of constant denial…

Residual feelings hum like perpetually mocking birds,

they strangle my throat, like soured curds,

my soul has withered & died, smothered by his lying words.

‘Oh, get a grip!’, commands my mind, ‘for you have only yourself to brace…’

I throw my arms around myself in an awkward embrace,

& tell myself ‘Stay strong, Babe, & soon, this pain shall vanish without a trace…’

Flying Flowers

Sunny resplendent glow 
around every tiny seed;

Silky softness in sinuous flow
shiny fluff of milkweed...

I remember chasing these fluffy little things as a child. The feather-soft stuff can barely be felt on your hand and therein lies the charm of capturing these seeds. 

I'd chase these 'flying flowers' all around the place and finally manage to capture a portion of it in my hand. And then, I'd store it away carefully in the closed pages of some favorite book or the other. Miraculously, I'd never find them again, no matter how hard I looked.

Years later, I still chase them around whenever they appear within my range of sight. The child in me chooses to stay the same, no matter how 'old' I grow. The only difference is that, today, I'm able capture these little marvels forever in a picture, if not within the folds of a book. 

I got lucky one fine sunny morning, on the way to the gym, when I saw a bunch of these 'flowers' hanging on to a little shrub. Every little silken strand glowed brightly in the sunlight. Needless to say, I forgot all about my workout in the excitement of trying to get a good shot before they 'flew' away, forever.

I had no idea what these seeds are called, and as usual, Google came to the rescue. An odd combo of keywords on the search bar yielded the name as 'Milkweed', a rather apt name, for these milky fluffs of joy.

***

A Tiny Reflection.

Every tear I shed 
is a pain-filled reflection,

of the tortured memories 
of a tainted perfection.

It's always an amazing experience to take a walk in the garden, soon after a round of heavy monsoon showers. I try to never miss the opportunity to admire tender leaves awash in all their green glory, or capture rain-washed blossoms dripping little droplets of water from their petals. 

This was one such random capture. It was only later that I realized that I'd gotten luckier than I'd thought. The minuscule yellow flower with the pearly bead at its core, reflected within the tiny droplet, took my breath away.

You don't need to be a great photographer to get cool shots...Nature does most of the wonders for you. You only need to be at the right place, at the right time...and Bingo!

Short Story 1 : The Anomaly

She remembered the exact moment when the nightmare had begun. It had been in the garden, in that corner where the jasmine creeper fought for space with the croton bushes.

If only she’d known why she’d tripped there for no reason. After all, she had lived in that house for all of her 14 years. She knew the garden like the back of her hand. Had she ever, ever tripped in her garden before?

But then, one never knows.

When had she realized that something was really wrong? Only a day later…when her right calf had begun to develop the rash, that progressed to a darker shade up her leg, to her thighs, by the hour. And the pain! Oh, the searing pain that shot through her leg had left her gasping for breath before the break of dawn.

Dr. Sharma had been…different. She recalled the panic in his eyes when he first looked at her leg. That look, that said ‘Oh no! Not another one!’ before the hood descended over his eyes.

Panic was what she recognized in Ma’s eyes too, that evening. The muted whispers in the living room that ceased when she was within earshot, told her volumes of what she didn’t want to know.

And then, Roma had called. It was all so weird that she she’d actually chuckled when her childhood friend had explained the ‘anomaly’, as she had worded it. A new virus? A damned virus that only attacked youngsters, particularly pubescent people? It was too outlandish to imagine.  But then, here she was, with a leg that had swollen to twice the size, the painfully open pores oozing awful yellowish fluids at regular intervals…

‘Is there a cure, Babaji?’ she heard the muted sobs emanating from the living room. Ma was inconsolable.

It was yet to sink into her consciousness, that she had less than a week to live.

***

‘You always chided her for being too dark, too short…that she’d never find a guy who’d agree to marry her…’, Didi’s voice broke, despite the  accusation laced within her tone. ’And now, she is dying...are you happy now?’

Her grandmother, for once said nothing. She knew that her elder granddaughter was only venting her agony. The agony that mirrored the guilt-ridden distress that gnawed at her own insides.

Shreya, the baby of the house, was going to die.

***

‘Ten thousand rupees’, said the Baba’s disciple with barely concealed excitement in his voice. ‘Not a rupee more, not a rupee less, auntyji’.

‘Let me talk to Babaji, beta…we have been visiting your ashram from 13 years now…Babaji has known our family since ages, he was very close to my father-in-law…’

Kamala’s desperate plea was drowned in the noise the din. The serene ambiance of the luxuriant reception of the ashram, now resembled the chaos of Johnson fish market on Sunday mornings. Except that the desperate people here weren’t buying fish. They were trying to buy the magical elixir of life for their loved ones.

Kamala removed her tiny clutch from the jute handbag she carried and sat down on the tiny wooden stool in the corner to count the currency. Only 7000 rupees. She would plead with Babaji to save Shreya…they could arrange for more money later…

***

‘How can there be no cure?’ Her father’s indignant tone barely concealed the fake bravado he tried to portray in front of his family.  ‘It’s just a virus, for God’s sake! We have cures for everything these days…and Shreya is so young , doctor…’

She didn’t want to hear anymore. All she could think of was, ‘Four days left to live…four more days, four days, four days…’

***

‘It has worked on 60% of the patients we’ve tried it on…at this point, we can only grasp at straws and hope for the best.’ Dr. Sharma sounded distant and exhausted.

The sting of the injection hardly registered in Shreya’s mind. She knew that she’d already lost her leg to the gangrene. She tuned out Ma’s constant chanting of prayers, while she applied the sacred vermilion and ash, procured from the ashram, repeatedly over her forehead.

Would the doctor’s medicine work? Or Babaji’s offerings?

Was it better to stay alive as a cripple for life…or was it better to die?

She would know by the next 6 hours. She would know how it was supposed to end for her by daybreak…or at least, her family would.

Shreya closed her eyes and slid into a dreamless sleep.

*** *** ***

Hidden beauty: White Hibiscus

The most beautiful parts of me, usually go unnoticed...

Every flower has real beauty hidden deep within the folds of its petals. And these are the parts that are rarely noticed. Keen observation reveals the minute intricacies of the stigma and the beauty of the anthers...

This is a combination of colours that I love, the hues of the sun within a pale white background...a treat for the eyes, indeed.

I normally pass by the scores of hibiscus blooms in our garden without much cognizance to them, but then, every once in a while, these beauties do catch my eye. And I'm forced to pull out my phone to capture the moment forever...

Dark Rose - A Poem

A love without purpose...is a ruthless dart. 

***

When love without purpose

trespasses into a clueless heart

that knows no better,

it is but a dark thorny rose

that pierces like a ruthless dart

wrapped in a scented letter...

***

White Blooms

I trudged ahead in the morning mist,
mile after dreary mile;
Despite the bite of winter's fist,
these blooms did make me smile...

                                                                                                              - ©Chethana

Early one morning, in December, I pulled myself out of bed to squeeze a walk into my busy (and boring) schedule. I almost missed these lovely blooms and doubled back to get a better look. And then, of course, out came my phone...and this simple memory remains in their enchanting beauty forever.