Although it was cloudy all morning, when I placed my hand on one of Reginald’s bald fleshy paddles, it was warm to the touch. “How could this be?” I thought. Is there blood coursing beneath this weathered green skin? “It’s more like a fine wine,” he answered. Oh, Reginald! How I love a wine metaphor. Well, you don’t get wine without smashing a few grapes and Reginald had the battle scars to prove it. The gnarled base reminiscent of a distant deciduous relative, with a bark like scabs that have formed over battle wounds. Most of his spines all removed through entanglements or clipping or maybe they just gave up. Reginald had a character and depth of authority that commanded respect but also beckoned me in, promising sophisticated philosophical conversation with salt-of-the-earth practical wisdom. You can’t buy this kind of character. Is this why most women date older men? Do I even need to ask rhetorical questions with Reginald standing before me, coursing warm wine blood beneath my curious hand? I pulled my hand back and felt flush. #cactuschronicles #losangelesplantlife #plantlover #cactuslove