I look at cacti in the windows. Pink and white blooms. Delicate flowers. It is spring. They haven’t bloomed since Christmas. Colors. There was no need for lights.

The sun shines on them, and I am struck by the contrast; plants suited for the desert growing, flourishing safely indoors, cars driving by, and shanties falling apart brick by brick, as the cacti live. It’s a beautiful picture for those walking by on uneven sidewalks.

I keep the shades open as a gift to the neighborhood.  Light on green leaves never looked so spectacular. People point at them. They stare at the beauty. I wonder if they’re just looking into my apartment. 

Seated in my easy chair, listening to Bill Evans, and waving at the passersby. I am happy with this.