Distractions
There is a flower of a cactus without spines that is beautifully delicate both in appearance and fragrance. This cactus only blooms one night of the year and wilts by morning. And year after year for one night of the year and wilts by morning. And year after year for one night it will give a fleeting glimpse of its beauty, of its appeal. But then every so often, when its roots become overgrown, confined, and tangled, and it can no longer hold back all the rest of its flowers it has inside, its bloom will remind of a night sky after a summer shower. A beautiful release of bright emotion, drowning the moon and and city lights and everything else to go unseen in its presence. A fog of its perfume in the perfectly clear night to make forget all of its stars will be gone before morning. In awe and desire there is waiting and wanting of the next bursting. But in appreciation and thanks there is realization that the tangle must be allowed to dissipate. Confines destroyed. Roots of the beauty given space to grow. And then to look up at the night sky, after a rain, to be reminded of all its flowers. To know what is inside, it is enough.