This is a young one. A calla baby. You already know how I feel about callas - that gleaming, sculpted simplicity has had my heart for a long time. But this little one made me think a little harder than usual. Look at the shape of it. There's something almost modern about that curl - the way the bract wraps itself around the soft yellow center, not quite open, not quite closed. Like it hasn't decided how much of itself to show the world. Like it's still circling its own quiet middle, working up the nerve. It reminded me of the many puppies I have fostered. The way they orbit the safe place at first - close enough to dart back, far enough to start seeing what else is out there. The first brave inches of I think I can do this on my own. You can almost watch the calla doing the same thing in slow motion. It hasn't unfurled yet. It's giving itself room. I think we forget that we're allowed to do that, too - at any age, in any season. To circle the thing we're not sure of. To leave a little space between ourselves and the world while we figure out what we want to grow into next. The flower will open in its own time. So will I.