My favorite flowers are the bulbous ones. The huge and rippling and assuming ones. Dahlias, especially. Dahlias just blossom, relentlessly, taking in none of your concerns about space or size or appropriateness. They are not dainty. They are not pretty. Their colors buzz and their smell is pungent and it fizzes in your nose for a while. Their pointed petals poke the atmosphere and proclaim their presence. I sit and my mind and write sentences. I admire their freedom. To me, the audacity of pride. To them, mere existence.