The city breathed in the monotony of wet asphalt, and I, another erythrocyte moving through its veins, swam the usual route - from door to door, from one duty to another. There were no thoughts in my head, but a thick, murky and shapeless mess, settling somewhere on the back of my head. But then, at the turn to a more noisy street, I saw it out of the corner of my eye - an abandoned flower garden, forgotten by the municipality, wedged between the wall of a crumbling building and the sidewalk.

It was not neat beauty. It was a rebellion of an anarchist color. From the ground, scarred like an old man's forehead, wild orphans rushed forward, staring defiantly at the passers-by with purple and yellow faces. A few tulips, clearly remnants of last year's grandeur, stood proud but tired, their petals parted like the repainted lips of an old woman, revealing black, dusty hearts. Between them curled the milkweeds, bearing ripe balls of fluff that seemed to be waiting with bated breath for the only sign, a gust of wind that would release their legion of seeds into the world. That whole patch was a forgotten battlefield where beauty slowly and steadily won the war against concrete.

And then it hit. Not a thought, not a feeling. Just sudden, inexplicable clarity. Everything around fell silent, the rumble of cars turned into the distant rumble of the ocean floor. I saw only that flower garden. I saw not plants, but the very will of life - persistent, irrational, impetuous. Every leaf, every stroke of color seemed absolutely necessary.

Euphoria. Warm, intoxicating.

A grown man standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Staring at the weeds.

With my fingers, I unconsciously touched the slightly loosened thread at the button of the coat. The rough tip of the thread poked at the skin, a tiny, real anchor in this unexpected sea of ​​wonder. The wind shook the heads of the tulips, and they nodded to me like old friends who knew a secret. The secret was simple: there is no meaning except that which is literal is – rushes, blooms and dies without any question.

I sighed, taking in the moist air and pollen gold with my full chest.

I smiled. The big revelation of the day that happened between the crumbling wall and the street. Tomorrow it will be just a vague memory, another story I'll tell myself, trying to convince myself that days have color as well as weight.

The tip of the thread at the button was still poking the finger.

I let him go. And I turned the corner.