weird round concrete thing, the place where the muse and I used to share a smoke and a shoulder bump, and that's when I met the new girl.
I'd known her for years, seen her around at other people's houses, but I never knew her name or even paid her much attention. She never struck me as beautiful or even remotely attractive. But today she captivated me.
"Hey," I said, and she nodded in the breeze. I knelt beside her and for a long moment I could only look at her, I could do nothing else but stare and wonder why I'd never noticed how gorgeous she was.
Veronica persica. She usually goes by the common name Persian speedwell, but the scientific name fit her better today. The only Veronica I've known before was the one Elvis Costello brought to life, the one with the carefree mind of her own and the delicate look in her eye. That's my kind of girl. Especially if she has a curly cranium.
I know some people think I have strange taste in women ("she's right in your wheelhouse," one friend said about the muse, and he was right). Veronica seems to fit that same pattern. The best guides I could find say she has no known uses and is generally seen as a weed. Perfect. I've always tried to see beauty in weeds. If the misfit fits, and all that.
After the figurative and literal cold of this long and weird winter, Veronica was exactly what I needed today — a startling glimpse of small beauty and the start of a season of renewal. A time when hope will spring eternal.