As I walked I saw a single cactus bloom that sparked my imagination:
She glanced downward at her yellow evening gown resplendent with bits of orange dotting the inside layer. the dress had been exhaustively chosen for this night, and she had planned every motion, every word of the evening.
Now the hours had ticked away… She had not intended to be late.
The angry words exchanged, there had been no way to call them back, retrace her steps, begin anew. Time had passed without her assent. She flew to her appointed meeting…thinking he would wait.
When she had finally flung open the doors to the party everyone was gone. Imagine her the only bloom left of the season, stilly lovely, still glorious, yet past her time and so very alone…
the last of her kind.
The last flower of the season was out of sync with the rest. Something about its singularity made it more fragile, more ethereal…