A Montage of Flowers

Dream Journal 06-02-16

Last night’s dream was probably the foggiest it has been in a long while. The most prominent thing in my brain after waking up was “narcotic daisies”. After pondering on what on earth that meant I started to remember  a little bit more about last nights adventure in la la land.

I walking down the streets of my old city, not with any destination in particular but just out to enjoy the journey. Leaving the high-rise city centre behind I headed towards the ocean for a bite to eat. I commented on how clean the city was, nothing like my hometown. Polished streets and joyful people were all around me. As I neared the grandeur of the sea, a mysterious scent caught my attention. It was not warm scent, I would not even say it was a pleasant scent, but it  smelt vaguely akin t the inside of a cigarette box. That smell that just makes you want more without you knowing why. I followed through alleyways and parking lots, over parked cars and flat-topped buildings until right before me, stood its source.

A small, geometrically perfect cube stood in front of me. A flower shop with daisies lined up outside of it. I entered the store and was immediately hit with the smell of freshly cut plants. The sudden change in smell knocked me back to my senses and made me realise just how far I had traveled to get here. Looking around the store, I notice that all the customers, about 18 of them, were caucasian men in black suits aging around 35 with black suits and a black tie against a white shirt. They all wore sunglasses, they all had short black hair. All of them browsing over the flowers, sniffing carefully at each one as if to detect any impurities in their scent and then moving onto the next one.

One flower, in particular, had caught my eye, it was as white as fresh snow with a slight tinge of the blue of a clear sky. This mysterious flower sang to me, a soft lullaby that reminded me of the ones my mother sang. Its five petals were soft to the touch. I purchased the flower from the store clerk and he, very calmly, mentioned that this flower was set to sing a song to all those who are impure of heart and if I was sure I wanted one that reminded me of my sins. He offered up a range of other flowers with the ability to send someone into a trance when they are soaked in water. He asked if I would also like to purchase a flower  whose kiss would kill my enemies or a daisy that made anyone who smelt them addicted. I handed the man his due money and hurried out the door, holding my breath by the flowers and traversing upwind. I turned a corner and appeared right before my house. Had I really walked that far away from the city? While I was crossing the road a powerful gust of wind blew the flower out of my hand and its song faded into the distance.

It’s been ten years since I encountered that flower shop. I still go and check for it every time I go for one of my walks. I wish I could find that store and that flower to show my wife and children. Describing its beauty to them cannot do its justice, If only I had its name I could research it and obtain a specimen to show it to my wife. I could prove to my kids that daddy wasn’t totally crazy.

I went most of my life unable to encounter those cerulean petals. Even now, in my old age, we still do not know the name of that flower I saw that day.


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