Heady

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I return from our trip my head filled with flowers. At night, in the darkness of our tent, against the darkness of the underside of my closed eyelids, movie-style, fields of shadow daisy-flowers bloom. Has the brightness of their daytime presence – fields of orange, yellow and blue – burnt after-images on my retinas, I wonder? My inner projector continues the spectacle well after the flowers on the ground, starved of the rays of the sun, have closed up their petals for the night.

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