Watering my garden this evening in the dark, I am the humble custodian of wild flowers blooming in sandy clay that can only be deemed soil if one is organically duplicitous. They sprang forth from a seed packet coveted by my child at the grocery, purchased on the way out of the store by accommodating grandparents.

These plants lean up towards the sun, grow quickly. Stems and leaves slender, tall and confident. On the top of these reeds, modest buds unfurl into enormous blossoms.

Wobbling to support chubby bright flowers, the plants eventually fall to the ground, stems stretching out across the dirt. Their luminous weights wither and fade.

This might be the time to trim, hope they come back next year. Tidy the place up. But instead this is when the true design of these flowers is revealed.

From the great length of the fallen stem, small stems branch up like young snakes, each equipped with its own leaves and blossom. These new branches grow quickly towards the sun, only ending their Icarian journey once they have released their own orbs of pink, red, orange, yellow.

By mere happenstance, I share land with these curious and prolific plants. They make such interesting company.