The Language of Flowers: Lily of the Valley

sweetness, humility, healing, spring, a return to happiness

I sleep late. The lawnmowers
do not wake me, nor the landlord's
angry wife. The light
finds my eyes gently,
as the rain begins. The house
is empty. The bright street,
deserted. The comforter
has been rejected, a cool white dog
at the foot of the bed.

All the clocks are wrong or gone,
I guess he took his with him. I force open
a window. It is time to start the day.

painting by Cassandra Barney
another season of floriography begins.


Teri and the cats of Furrydance said...

I like this, feeling of a misty morning. A little sad, he took the clocks...but life goes on, doesn't it and we savor what we can.

The artwork is lovely too...did you draw that?

Cassandra Barney said...

I love it.

Kate Horowitz said...


No, my friend Cassandra did! She's wonderful, and you can check out more of her art at www.cassandrabarney.com.

Mr. Apron said...

"A cool white dog?"

This must be a metaphor. My dog's a goddamn space heater.

Isn't that the point of having them sleep with you?

Kate Horowitz said...

Apron Boy--

I was more trying to suggest that the comforter looked like a white dog. Guess that image didn't exactly work. Good to know.

Man, I wish I had a big white dog.

Adam Wishneusky said...


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