Joe the botanist jolts himself out of bed and drives to the desert to capture the giant saguaro right before dawn. I\u2019m going to capture her waking up this time, he thinks. His head is bursting from the fresh morning air. One of the things he enjoys is how she appears more surprised to see him every time.\u00a0Is it you this early? she seems to say, but she doesn\u2019t look angry.<\/p>\n
He points the camera at her bulbous green nubs, tastes salt on his cheeks for the first time in days, and touches her long, wispy white hair that reminds him of Myna\u2019s. \u201cHey, I\u2019ve started singing in the shower again,” he tells her, as if, like his late wife, she\u2019ll be proud. When she gives him a prickly smile, he feels as if he is the least photogenic man she has ever seen, with morning crust in the corners of his eyes.<\/p>\n
“Do you remember the words to \u2018Something\u2019s Coming\u2019 from Westside Story?” Joe says, before remembering she has limitations. After all, she\u2019s alone out there in the heat every day, soaking it up for everyone.<\/p>\n
The desert sun is already too bright, and it’s hurting his head.<\/p>\n
“I\u2019ll come back tomorrow, young lady and test you,” he says apologetically, and the car sputters home, and now he remembers the words in his head, “Down the block, on a beach, maybe tonight,” because he knows it by heart.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He points the camera at her bulbous green nubs, tastes salt on his cheeks for the first time in days, and touches her long, wispy white hair that reminds him of Myna\u2019s. \u201cHey, I\u2019ve started singing in the shower again,” he tells her, as if, like his late wife, she\u2019ll be proud.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21229,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[863,3782,1147],"class_list":["post-20788","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","tag-flash-fiction","tag-microfiction","tag-short-story","writer-meg-pokrass"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20788","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20788"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20788\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21230,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20788\/revisions\/21230"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21229"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20788"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20788"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20788"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}