I walk into a forest I don’t know. Between the trees, on its own, there is a red
flower I have never seen before, and I’m sure nobody has. I lean in. First comes a
flash of citrus, then a prickle of spice, like a warning. Then the flower opens: deep,
velvety, a little wild, a rose that smells of somewhere else. Rain starts to fall
through the branches. Within minutes I’m soaked and the woods go dark and
damp around me, but I don’t move. The flower is still there, blooming in my head
long after I’ve walked out.
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