the florist had sunflowers today — it's been a good day. carelessly placing the keys on the table, she replaces last week's wilted lilies with big sunflowers. a girl with a thoughtless routine, of course, she then walks over to the kitchen racks — tea leaves, brown sugar. the world was never "going to the dogs" for her, political conversation was not enough to rile her up; she never wanted to be a part of a legendary romance or start a revolution. she wanted a nice bath after a long day, good tea and inspiring poetry on an uninspiring afternoon. sometimes it's overwhelming to look outside — all the square lights from the square windows in endless buildings; all the people. so she looks down, making swirls on the countertop with her fingertips. spectacular was not in the extraordinary; it was in the details lost in a glimpse. swaying to a song in her head she undoes the clasps of the brown-sugar jar. in the sweet essence of a paradoxical universe, it's quite reasonable to say, there was something astounding about her ordinariness.