Dahlia Eyeballs

 

I have a beautiful mauve orchid that we transported back from Florida in March.  All six blooms survived being wedged in the back of our truck along with coolers, bikes, and plastic bins on the 3,000 mile trek home.  It has flourished for 5 months.  Alas, it has two blooms left.  I was going to write about how sad that is and how it reminds me of my aged dog but then as I was walking the garden, watering and looking at weeds, this snake eye was staring at me!  What is it with my garden?  It's like a giant projective making me aware of my feelings, reminding me that joy and sorrow can sit side by side.  It sets my imagination free.  So today I uploaded this beauty.  It's the center of a dahlia, one of those five foot tall "trees" that flourish where I absent-mindedly planted them.  I image this a glorious snake with maroon-colored scales who is flower-looking by day and slithering around my yard at night.  He and his ten bloom companions.  Snakes and cats have this curious vertical slit, elliptical pupils, which allows them to see in low light. It's the eyes characteristic of predatory, ambush hunters that roam in the moonlight and on nights when there's barely a glow.  Whereas a human pupil can dilate up to 10 times its normal size; cats and snakes can dilate them up to 135 times original size.  They don't have the rectangular pupils of goats, which are weird but apparently help them flee as they have better horizontal vision.  Whatever is going on with dahlia eyeballs, it makes me smile. I am grateful to be reminded that life is a wonderful miracle and there is a sense of humor to be had.  Always.  I'm gonna peek out my bedroom window around 2am tonight when I get up to pee.  I hope to see the maroon colored snake that belongs to this eyeball, winking up at me.