Here’s the thing with flowers.
No matter how beautiful they are, no matter how much they cost or how many “oohs” and “ahhs” they get, they die. The junky weedy, sometimes lovely, daisy type flowers die the same way the gardenia dies.
Isn’t that strange? All this time I’ve been thinking, emoting about the human experience and metaphors that ride along side life, and right under my nose (pun intended) was the mother load of all life parallels. Flowers.
Different shapes and sizes, smells. Flowers come from all over the world, adapt to different climates. Some are wild, some are trim and proper. Some flowers are elegant and some are downright rangy. There are flowers with thorns, tiny soft flowers that bruise easily. Just like people.
All flowers are blooming, living their lives. Some hope to attract bees and pollinate and I’m pretty sure some of them can do that whole reproducing thing on their own. Busy, busy lives these flowers, all in an effort to keep going because they must know what we humans know.
They won’t last forever.
Their time is short and they have to make the best of it before their petals wilt, they lose their scent or worse start to get that stinky “time to throw the flowers out” smell. Because once they’re gone they will return to the earth, they may even get to help feed other flowers, but they will never have another chance to bloom, feel the warm sun, attend weddings or show up at someone’s door as a surprise.
Their time will be over, the clock is ticking.
Maybe that’s why we like flowers so much. They’re beautiful, indescribable for a time, a blink. We can relate.
My thoughts from the laundry room. No Time to Rest.