The flowers are lovely you say, but you think they changed color a bit. Didn’t they then. If you press your hand over your forehead like you’re shading yourself from the sun, you’ll see. You’ll see if you flutter your eyelids and then close your eyes awhile because it’s hot. Just for awhile because it’s hot.
You see purple or violet or pink and you shade your eyes with your hand like a mountain moving over your vision. Like a cool darkness that intercedes and resets.
What can you remember?
I move my hands over your forehead because you’re hot and I’m checking to see if you’re hot and you ask for more blankets and ask about the flowers and ask me what color they are and you tell me what color they are and then you ask me, “What flowers?”
We could just sit in lounge chairs and I’ll put up a big umbrella and we can not talk about anything. Would you like that? I would. I could erect a large pile of blankets next to you to block out the wind and put up a pile of pillows to prop your elbows on and they’re there in case you fall off the lounge chair. Doesn’t that sound good?
What flowers? The flowers out there, you told me about them. Those flowers. You can’t see anything because of the piles of blankets and pillows and the umbrella. But they’re there. You told me so.
They’re purple or violet or pink.