This week, finally back from Fotofest, I bought myself some tulips. They are the color of a child’s cheek, flushed from play, and as delicate as the breath on your neck from a child asleep on your shoulder.
I put them in a handpainted vase striped green and white, the green the color of tulip stems. They arc gracefully over the countertop and the basket of apples sitting near by.
The basket is woven bamboo; the apples are green. Amid the apples is one large grapefruit.
If I were to cut it open, its flesh would be the color of a child’s lips, just before it reaches the age of walking.