So I joined a blog of Texas writers and we take turns posting on Mondays. (If you want to give it a look, here’s the link: https://thirdcoastwriters.wordpress.com/) It’s helping me to at least be a little more consistent with writing, which means this blog may be updated more consistently. (Hooray!) We decided to do themes and this month’s theme is “Describe the Indescribable.” Here’s my entry:

Flowah

The place is on the verge of being too warm. A couple more people, a few more smokers, and the air’d be too close, too thick. But for now, it’s comfortable, hazy in a way that feels like contentment. Just slightly sticky tables, a couple of beers, and two blokes in a pub.

But Harry’s determined to disturb the peace. “Come now, no backing out. Give us a definition.”

“But it ain’t –“ Tom rasped, taking a moment to clear his throat. Collect his thoughts. Pull himself from dampened atmosphere. “It ain’t the kinda thing that you can describe.”

“Try.” Harry wasn’t impressed.

“It’s like…when ya see a flowah, eh? Nah, nah…back up. Ya ev’r ‘ad a plant, ‘arry?”

The man sniffed. “Once or twice. Can’t rightly call myself any sort of green thumb though.”

“Nah, me neither. But, say ya ‘ave one of ‘em cactus plants? Ya know the ones that girls cram their Instagrams wif to make ‘em seem like they’re rustic or somefin’ – some o’ ‘em look like flowahs, right? Green flowahs?”

“I suppose.”

“No supposin’ ‘bout it, they do. Let me ‘ave my points.”

“Fine.” Harry’s pointed exhale told Tom he didn’t have much time left.

“Right, well…did ya know they actually start croppin’ up pink flowers some times? Itty pink ones, offa shoots?”

“No.”

“Well, they does. Not all of ‘em mind. But some does. When ya least expectin’ ‘em to.”

“What does this have to do with a definition?”

“Hold on’, guv, I’m gettin’ there. Because that’s wut it’s like. Yer sittin’ ‘round bein’a cactus.”

Harry’s patience was at an end. “Tom –“

“Nah uh, lemme finish. Yuv ‘ad yer bit, lemme ‘ave mine. Yer sittin’ ‘round bein’ a cactus. Mindin’ yer own business. Yer gard’ner takes good care o’ ya, makes sure ya got all ya need.  But ya start noticin’ somefin’ different. Somethin’ else is growin’ along, getting’ longer than the rest o’ ya ‘n’ ya think ‘Now ‘at’s a bit weird, none of me fellows gots the same thing ‘appenin’.’

“ ‘n’ it makes ya start to think differently. ‘Maybe I’m not th’ same sort o’ plant as me fellows.’ But it don’t make ya arrogant ‘cause ya know ya didn’t put it there yerself.

“ ‘n’ maybe it makes ya a li’l worried ‘cause yer fellows notice yer difference too and start to tease ya. Sayin’ ya look stupid ‘n’ ya don’t fit in no more, gotta take care o’ that growth afore it kills ya.

“But deep down ya know it’s a good thing, eh? ‘cause it feels like life. It feels like growth. Feels like change. ‘n’ ya keep hopin’ somethin’s comin’ out o’ this ‘n’ yer gardener keeps promisin’ ‘Jus’ a li’l while longer, it’s comin’.’

“ ‘n’ one day –” Tom taps on his phone, bringing up a picture of his own succulent –  a small, greenish thing, with one long shoot. And on the top of the shoot, “ – flowahs!

“ ‘n’ it’s all ya’ve hoped for. It’s beautiful ‘n’ precious ‘n’ beyond what ya could think o’ ‘cause ya ain’t never seen nuffin’ like it before. ‘n’ ya know it ‘ad nothin’ to do wif wut yuv done ‘n’ that makes it even more lovely ‘cause it’s not something ya could’ve come up wif anyway. ‘The su’stance o’ things hoped for…ev’dence o’ things not seen’, eh?”

Harry looks thoughtful.

Tom cradles his picture in his hands, staring at the pink blossoms. “ ‘n’ I knows it’s a kinda silly definition, ‘arry, I knows it’s a bit ruff, ‘cause I’m a bit ruff. But look at this plant, ‘n’ tell me it ain’t beautiful? ‘n’ that’s what it means to me, ‘arry, that’s wut faith is. Beautiful.”