_{Ana Mendieta}
I can't get over the Fall light these days. It's just so bright. The Mudville skies are so blue! I actually saw a flock of geese flying south. Or at least that's what my city imagination leads me to believe. But then again I crave seasons. Just so it'll all make sense: the days shortening, the back-to-school lunchboxes, the Halloween masks in the store.

I used to work in a flower shop on Telegraph Avenue in college. I often wore overalls and mittens with the fingers cut out. There were only two walls to the shop so it was really more of a flower stand. I stood by a tiny space heater that could either warm my fingers or my toes. Every morning I changed the water for every bucket of flowers. On some mornings the water was frozen. Three times a week, we got fresh flowers and my fingers grew raw from dethorning the roses.

I was a snob. Carnations and baby's breath were the worst. Anyone who wanted roses with baby's breath or a single carnation, I thought was utterly lame. I hated Valentine's Day.

I befriended a lot of the avenue's riff raff. I gave them flowers too close to dying to sell. But still they were flowers. There were always petals falling out of my clothes. When I came home I smelled of the most pungent flowers: the gardenias, the tuberroses, the stargazer lilies.

I read. I talked on the phone. I flirted with the boys at the bookstore.
I begged my friends to come by and visit. Each morning, I watched the street wake up. And each night, I took home flowers and flowers.