Flora by Karina Cornell

You know when you wake up, and in the first few seconds of existence you don’t know who you are, why you are, and can’t seem to grasp any significant detail about your life? That void of endless possibility, is my favourite part of the day.

My mind reels in circles, trying to grab onto any tangible thought or memory as slowly I open my eyelids, peeling them up like tiny drawbridges unlocking my world. The first thing I see is my enormous tree, just outside my window. The lush green leaves move each in their own individual way, but connected as a vast force, in sync. It gifts me the hope that there could be more than just that one to adore. 

Below that tree, I think, lays a field of blue bells, that’s been cast over the soil like an indigo tapestry, covering the ground below me. The sun beams through my beautiful tree, but with the leaves moving it seems to spark and flash, the light playing peekaboo to mischievously wake me from my slumber. It has swaying branches, drooping down one by one, to playfully butterfly kiss the blue bells below. 

If I look further back into the distance, some miles away, there’s a grove of other trees clinging to each other, all scrunched together and I know if I reached out far enough I could run my fingers through them. They own a dense green colour, that has sucked all the nourishment from the rain and infused it with glorious sunlight, blending the two like a child with a brand new paint pot. It disperses into the air with the intoxicating scent of the blue bells and I will soon fill my lungs, and every fibre in my body will taste it.

Each part of this moment is over run with other wild, fresh and diverse flowers. A natural multi-culture in perfect harmony.

I look deeper and in the distance I can just make out, one beautiful and commanding stag. He is stood, at the edge of my consciousness, with his head turned and staring at me. We both harbor a deep found respect for the other, and in this first second I open my mouth and breathe. 

I blink for the second time when reality rushes through my veins, that space and hopeful possibility disintegrates, pattern by patten.

The baby from next-door screams and, as usual, is never comforted. The sirens pierce the window and fly by filling the sterile air, while the traffic lights beep a monotonous and repetitive beep that flicks the side of my mind, continuously, until I drag myself up.

I turn and edge to the side of my bed, and hang my head to the floor. There is no hope left of blue bells and beautifully disordered flowers. I can feel the concrete from miles around closing in on each cell of my body. There is no natural multi-culture living in perfect harmony and I remember how unlikely it is that another soul will respect me in any part of my day. The air that fills my lungs is vacant and dusty.

This city life feels dirty to me. But I do have my one favourite tree.


Leave a Reply