I have an affinity for flowers that close and open depending on the time of day. I was ready to come here and write about how I don’t know why they do it, but that seemed lazy and lacked curiosity, so I looked it up. It turns out that science does not know why some flowers close at night. I suspect science knows even less about why some flowers close during the day. There are a couple of theories, mostly to do with protecting pollen and saving energy. There is a word for this circadian reaction in plants. Nyctinasty is plant movement in response to the onset of darkness. I wonder if there is a word that describes a plant’s tendency to open in response to darkness, like the moonflower, or if nyctinasty encompasses both closing and opening in response to the dark.
If you are expecting this to lead you somewhere profound, you might be in for a disappointment.
I saw my psychiatrist today and cried through 75 percent of my appointment. This is not a sympathy-seeking statement. It’s simply a fact. It’s too early to say, but this might be a routine I’m settling into. It suits me nicely — I like having a set time to be sad and frustrated. I left the hospital without checking my face in the mirror for tear streaks and the like. I realized this partway up the street and turned around to go back. But I decided against it. Instead, I stopped a woman. Excuse me, I asked, does it look as though I’ve been crying?
I lack a filter. Thoughts and opinions pour out of my mouth with little thought to the consequences. By this, I don’t mean I’m unkind. At least I hope I’m not. But I say things before considering if they are appropriate to the time or place or person. It’s a kind of laziness. And maybe a franticness, too. There are so many stories to tell and things to say and conversations to have and there doesn’t seem to be enough time. I don’t know how to say all the things that need to be said without a constant stream of words flowing from my mouth. Even if there isn’t a listener.
I was talking about flowers with Elfi last week. She said, I love tropical flowers. I love how they are precise and exact, like sculpture. Orchids. Birds of Paradise. Those are my favourites. I admire Elfi. She has a grace and precision I envy.
My favourite flowers are wild. Yarrow, violets, forget-me-nots, primrose, Queen Anne’s lace. Flowers that grow on trees and rain their petals down on you in a breeze. Flowers that are chaotic and messy and seed themselves anywhere.