In that hamlet’s locodescriptive review suggested fields of prismatic brilliance, Tuli felt like she was not quite up to playing her part in such a state of wilted being. Were there spaces, under shaded trees or in vacuous vases, where her wilted wonder would be more appropriately attributed? She oft wished she belonged in this clique of better blooms and, thusly, deserved to pose with them, but she also found unquestioning surrender to sun’s radiation felt somewhat superficial, especially since there were, in the frame of a literally grounded perspective, curiosities overlooked, overstepped—and, yes, in their triviality, she had not yet found an energy to erect herself; however, in that aura of the forgotten and footed, she had arisen reason to accept her place as postured—not for primes’ time, but as a beacon of belonging for those not yet ready or able to climb. ; )