The autumn sage is blooming in spring, which leads me to believe

she’s just getting started.

I kneel for a closer look,

absorbed in the little pairs of bright magenta flowers

like washed slippers hung out to dry.

The top half of the flower is a paintbrush,

so saturated in color,

it has begun to drip down onto the petal below,

highlighting the landing pad for pollinators looking for nectar.

The color hasn’t quite spilled all the way to the edge of the bottom petal,

leaving me mesmerized and watching,

waiting for the magenta brilliance to make its way across the entirety of the bloom.