For the love of Red

I picked a small bunch of fynbos flowers, placed it in a cup, here where the wind seldom relents and the soil cries out for more nutrients. Could it really be that these flowers need only light, rain and carbon breathed out by industry and me.

I’ve seen Indigofera capillaris drop her seventh leaf for a small purple flower and James Britannia formed red stripes out of five of his petals. I’ve seen how Phylica Ericoides changed from grey to sparkling white and even smelled Diosima Guthrei’s tiny white stars and the bruised leaves of the Agathosmas.

This cup of beauty is a mystery to me, why should it exchange oxygen to me

Why must my exhalation be met by so much beauty

If not designed by a God who is perfect beauty.

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