Whit kneels by the creek to examine the impossible flower. It has a tall weedy looking stem covered in leaves that stick out like thorns, but the flower itself is small and yellow and looks even delicate. The plant is impossible because the fast moving water should have washed it away and the sandy silt it is rooted in should have made it impossible for it to grow and bloom without the nutrients that dirt and soil have.

“It probs washed down there when the creek gone flooded over the bank.” Xylo says behind him, he had relit his blunt and is giving it a few good puffs.

“Yeah…” Whit stares curiously for a moment more before sinking his hands into the icy water and scooping the flower out with a handful of silt.

Xylo watches him from his little nook as Whit chooses a spot on the steep, sloping embankment not far from him. He sets the flower down and digs it a little home for it to live in. When he’s done he climbs back onto Xylo’s lap and rest his head on his chest to hear the sound of his heart. His dirty hands rub off on Xylo’s shirt getting it dirty too, but neither of them care. They watch the flower where it is now planted and then watch as it is bowed over by the weight of a grasshopper that has taken a liking to the flower. The grasshopper begins to eat it’s breakfast.

“I know what God feels like.” Whit says at the sight.

“Now ain’t that the truth.” Xylo drawls out.

~

“…’N speakin’ of holy things I started a paintin’ of you lil’Whit.”

“Really? Do I look dead in it?”

“Dunno yet, just started it while I was high ’n high ’n stuff.”

Whit watches the yellow flower become devoured, “We’re never in control.”

Xylo lets his head fall back on the ground as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

~