Remembrances of Magnolias

Is it possible to synthesize in thought the color of magnolia without visualizing the vulval blooms leaking that redolent scent? Without remembering how the smell travels during hot and damp days, its passage curling through folds and layers of air currents so that its intensity teases? Without succumbing to the urge to pluck it from its wooden perch and place it in the hair of the woman you love?


The color of magnolia projects itself in shape, smell, and meaning upon my consciousness and it warms me in this winter day.


The End

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