It's spring and the flowers are out. So are the artichokes, and last week, Stephen brought some home from a little farmer's market around the corner from a friend. When the farmer's market in our area opens, we go once a week and buy our vegetables and Stephen picks out flowers to arrange in the apartment, a vase in the studio, a vase in my writing room. This night, he just came home with the four artichokes, and I set them on the cutting board and started to prepare them, sawing the tops off with a serrated knife. Even without trying, I ended up with flowers anyway.
Is consciousness perhaps
19 hours ago