warm smell of colitas rising up thru the air
It was hot last night and the long unremembered scent of mimosa assailed my nostrils, returning me to childhood, to a time when these pink bottle-brush blossoms carpeted the the neighborhoods of South Oak Cliff, to a time before cigarettes, alcohol, broken relationships, and all the other burdens of growing up had not yet spun us into the frenzied tornado of puberty. It was a time when a hot summer night, mimosa, fireflies, and no one calling you to come home was paradise on earth.
punching through mental blocks »
