I planted all of the succulents that were in my bridal bouquet. They root in pots at my kitchen window. Peripheral, they soak in the warmth of dinner time.
I heat miso soup on the stove and make chard cakes from our garden harvest. The Bohemian talks to a Czech friend , that beautiful, foreign language rolling from his tongue, mingling with soup steam.
One rose-like floret, thick and lush, calls me from my chopping. There’s symmetry in bloom. Two perfect drops of water, cupped.
The Bohemian must have watered. It looks like new growth. I believe the succulents are taking hold.