har-ish

I arrived at the edge of something that seemed to have opened just for me. It was less a body than a flower unfolding in slow motion, its petals soft, secretive, impossibly close. I felt myself drawn toward it with the blind certainty of a moth finding a flame, or a bee discovering a flower after travelling miles through an empty summer.

There was no map, no instruction;  only the strange gravity of two forms recognising one another. I wanted to disappear into that softness, to become part of the unfolding, until the distinction between flower and visitor, invitation and arrival, was no longer quite clear.