15 Minutes

 I set the 15-minute timer. That’s what I do for motivation when I don’t want to do something. I set the timer thinking to myself, I don’t have to finish, I just need to get started. And then I make myself do 15 minutes of whatever I’m putting off. Today, like almost every day, it is the dishes. I loathe them. When I am rich, I will never do them again.  What a grand idea, to never wash another dish.  

As I’m washing the dishes I stare out the window and into my garden. Most of it is overgrown and unattended. But my onion blossoms have come into themselves. In particular, I’m captivated by the one that sways into the others as if inviting them to dance.  I get the itch to take some pictures. No, I chide myself, the timer.  Surely you can last 15 minutes. But before I can convince myself otherwise,  I’m already out the door.

Onion blossoms. Exquisite green stems and minuscule florets arranged in an eye-pleasing globe; a slow-motion fireworks show shedding translucent coats to unveil delightful orbs. Onions aren’t glamorous. They are the commonest of ingredients and can give you terrible breath.  And yet, here in my garden,  they offer the solace of whimsy and preach sermons of profundity. 

Finally, when I’ve had my fill of onion blossoms, I’m reminded of my dishes.  Resetting the timer, I wonder if perhaps this time I will make it through my fifteen minutes. 


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