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  • I have a confession to make: this time of year, my walk from my house to the center of town turns me into a thief. I'm usually pretty respectful of other people's property-- I don't idley ramble across my neighbor's lawns or rummage in their garages. I'd rather ask than just take.

    But I cannot resist their flowers.

    It begins in spring with the lilacs, escalates with a certain yard full of crimson tea roses at the start of June, and reaches its peak with the day lilies of midsummer. I know that, once picked, these beauties will have only a few hours of life before wilting. I know that if I let them be, they'd remain, leaning out prettily over the sidewalk for others to enjoy. It's subrational. I simply can't help myself.

    I see the brilliant orange of a tiger lily, and I want it to come with me. I want to absorb its little blessing of happiness into myself. And it is true that, with a flower in my hair, catching a sudden glimpse of myself in a store window makes me smile. A lady with a lily in her hair.

    Plus, I haven't been caught.
    Not yet.
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