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	<title>existence &#8211; SPARK</title>
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		<title>Pippa Possible and Amy Souza</title>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[pippa]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sun, 09 Sep 2018 22:09:01 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[SPARK 38]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amy Souza]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Art]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[botanical]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[drawing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[existence]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Illustration]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[nasturtium]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Spark38]]></category>
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					<description><![CDATA[
&#8220;I Exist&#8221;
Pippa Possible
Response
Nasturtiums
By Amy Souza
Inspiration piece
Certainly vines had been creeping forth in the days prior to my noticing, but it was as if the nasturtiums &#8230;]]></description>
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<p><strong>&#8220;I Exist&#8221;<br />
Pippa Possible</strong><br />
Response</p>
<p><strong>Nasturtiums<br />
By Amy Souza</strong><br />
Inspiration piece</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Certainly vines had been creeping forth in the days prior to my noticing, but it was as if the nasturtiums appeared out of nowhere. One day barren earth; the next, lush greenery reaching out onto the patio, bright orange and yellow flowers poking heads toward the sky.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">The flowers taste peppery and burn floral essence into nasal passages. This I know is true, though I can&#8217;t recall a specific instance when I&#8217;ve plucked a flower and placed it on my tongue. Glancing out the window that first early day, I felt a jolt at the sight of them, and then I felt crazy. Had I planted nasturtiums? Watered them? Watched them sprout? I wondered if a secret being hid inside me and snuck out to sow seeds as a message: <em>I exist.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">While I sleep the nasturtiums travel, furtive, their tendrils seeking support to climb upon. They find the narrow metal stake that holds up a battered, unused screen porch and claim it for themselves. Now I greet them as I turn on the electric kettle each morning. Water begins to boil and I scan the yard to see how far the stems have traveled. Sometimes they grow a foot in one day.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile, the world moves around me. I hear cars in the distance and imagine drivers hurrying to important places. Somewhere close by, a shovel scratches loose rock. The whine of a lawn mower. Aroma of cut grass and gasoline.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">I remember that feeling of purpose. Once I had things to do, too. Though not old, I feel archaic and worn. Never know how to go on, how to keep waking up. In the morning, when I do rouse, I often surprise myself by still being here. And yet here I am.</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
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