THE FLOWER SELLER

With the persistent rain and cooler temperatures, I’ve been keeping the windows open, listening to the droplets roll off the trees and spatter on the porch. They almost crackle like a fire, two opposing elements that mesmerize, satisfy, and destroy.

It’s the perfect weather to keep me buckled to my seat, and I’ve been hyper productive — knocking out copy for my day job and making progress on the script. But I hit a wall late this afternoon and needed a break.

I wandered about the house, did some laundry, straightened up a little, and finally flung myself on the bed.

It had happened. I was utterly bored. I began to question my exile from social media at a time when I could go for days without seeing a person I know in real life. But then I gave myself a pep talk, reminding myself why I had made this decision and the benefits I had already reaped — including today’s productivity.

It was then that I noticed, really studied, the Diego Rivera print that hangs on our bedroom wall. It’s the one of the girl holding the calla lilies, her legs tucked under, her bare feet touching.

Lilies often symbolize death and suffering. Yet, with her head reverently bowed, she embraces the bouquet and appears holy, serene. The pleats on her blouse echo the ridged stems. Her lovely braids curve like a spathe on a flower. Diego’s signature is seen on a text, possibly a missal, lying beside her.

I realized that the girl, too, is part of the eternal symbol of beauty and pain. And at that moment, I was thankful that my attention was undivided.

Boredom, sometimes, pays off.