Some flowers are more beautiful than others. Their elegance reaches up to the heavens, their scents and colors cast prisms like candy rainbows, sparking the senses of the beholder.
Eventually, the beholder sees that beauty blooms in even the darkest places. And that is a beauty beyond all others.
The least beautiful flower spreads more joy and hope in the dark than the most beautiful does in the sun.
Like nearing the last pages of a book I don’t want to end, long shadows fill me with a sinking melancholy. It isn’t darkness I fear; it is the end. As something to be faced and met with openness, it requires a vulnerability from which I wish to flee.
Sunlight fades below the standing trees. I begin to mourn the loss of now.
High above my shoulders, singing its glory overhead like a crown of shining jewels, brimming with vitality in its prime. That now. The best of now.
And even though I understand the fall of day drops below my feet into the promise of tomorrow, I mourn. Long shadows fade to no shadows.