I wish I could share with you this perfect Magnolia flower that I hold cupped in both hands. It is the velvety color of moon glow. Each creamy petal forms the perfect curve, urging to be plucked and transformed into Thumbelina’s boat, to be used for floating far away out of the reach of land.
I long to raise these petals up for you to smell. Its odor indescribable, a soft floral lemon with a hint of spice, Yet wait, and return for another inhale and you will discover a breeze of clean, freshly-washed linen, or the slight citrus of lemon. Oh how I wish I could create a sublime perfume from it, forever capturing its magic. Yet once packaged it loses its charm, and what is real ends up smelling like a matronly ladies hand cream, it's true essence captured only by nature.
Now, however, in this moment, in its true and perfect form, each petal is alive with the incredible lightness of air. If I pluck it from its branch, I risk its immediate disintegration. Even if it remains whole its color will quickly fade from creamy vanilla to milk coffee caramel. Eventually, every petal will fall away, pollen-dusted and alone. What will remain will be its center; a pineapple shaped reminder of its former magnificence.