The outer skin of the onion, no, my heart, flakes off, revealing layers and layers of bitter pungency. Will the fire burn it to a crisp or melt it into smoky sweet caramel?
They sought to strip it of its glory, carrying away the riches and resplendent roof but by taking it down to its bare essentials, it instead becomes more truly a worship song, a resounding proclamation of God.
There’s no fear in the curving of her ear or the languid switch of her tail or the arch of her neck, the breeze ruffling her fur. She enjoys her midday meal, her eyes gazing placidly in the distance, thinking thoughts that are her own.
In the language of flowers, camellias means admiration, perfection, loveliness. Femininity apparent in the curve of the cheek, the look in the eye, and slight quirk of lips.