raybear | Vacant lot.

At first, I thought I had been dreaming. Even while I was standing in awe, I didn't believe. It was barely 8 am when I stumbled out of the apartment and hit the sidewalk in search of a northbound bus in a still unfamiliar neighborhood, so it's certainly possible I was also just distracted and misremembered. When I walked though the weeds later that night, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the pattern of green leaves tangled up in litter and broken glass, no evidence of my vision.

But the next morning, they were there, a sea of purple-blue wildflowers, a variation of morning glories in how they live if not in their shape.

My building has maybe twelve large apartments, six in the front, six in the back. On one side is a four-flat condo with smooth new velvety brick, but the mailboxes still read the names of tenants with messy scrawling hand-written marker. On the other side is a vacant lot. It's not wide, perhaps big enough another two or three flat, but just as long as the rest of the builings. A path has been beaten on the right side, not straight down the middle but just a little off-center and a bit meandering.

By noon they're certainly gone. Maybe even earlier do they disappear. But before 9 am, they take my breath away. They fill the entire lot and the batch of grass between the sidewalk and the street in front of the lot. I'm still amazed when I return in the evening that I can't find a bud or a petal or any reminder of their presence.
So maybe they are just a dream.