My pointing finger pauses above the flower, then wanders to the next, more beautiful specimen. I had decided to pick my most favorite bloom, and was allowing a loooooong time for the decision. After all, it was a perfect day of sunshine and clear skies and cool warmth and clean air. I chose this one:
A Fire Poker, my mother had told me. It had opened with an intensity that seemed fiery, and very orange.
I circumnavigated the garden and chose again. This one, I decided:
Then I remembered I had just started a small, almost-secret succulent garden, and succulents had rapidly become my new, realllly, really favorite:
But I was right the first time.
The fickle finger of favorites swings back to the first, the best. For now.