Play Misty for Me

An 11 hour day, my knees hurt, and a huge commercial garbage truck is grinding at my heels. But I will stop at the closed florist’s window, look inside…and before I can settle my eyes I hear from the subway grate below a single trumpet starting a slow, woozy old standard:

“Look at me, I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree.
And I feel like I’m clinging to a cloud, I can’t understand,
I get misty, just holding your hand…”

Nostalgic and blowsy like the hydrangeas, voluptuous as the tuberoses.

“Look my way, and a thousand violins begin to play.
Or it may be the sound of your hello, that music I hear,
I get misty, the moment you’re near…”

And then I see the red ranunculus, the loose tiered circles of ever so thin petals, so exactly pretty, quaint and sweet. And I feel my shoulders relax, I drop my fuck-you commuter attitude.

“On my own, would I wander through this wonderland alone?
Never knowing my right hand from my left, my hat from my glove,
I’m too misty, and too much in love…”

Beautiful. Perfect. Time to go home.