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.