I hadn’t any money and she had too much time, so we went out to count flowers. There were seven blue ones in the dirt. “I count seven” she said, and she was right, there were seven. “What kind are they?” she asked.

“Those are the blue kind.”

“Oh,” she said. There was a bush with many small red flowers on it. They were paper thin and creased by the mild elements; there was very little substance to them. The bush, which could also be described as a very thick vine, had devoted very little of its resources to these petals, yet they were pretty. This was due to their brightness. They looked as though they had been colored with a highlighter. I had watched them these several months. The petals had once been blood orange but now, though just as bright, they were purple.

I stood there looking at them. “How many do we have to count,” I said, “before dinner?”

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