Flowers often inspire many forms of creative expression. What story will this flower tell?
Have you ever taken the time to look at the veins of a flower? At its petals, the way they connect to the stem? Flowers are such simple things, and yet, so intricate.
A splash of color here, a bit of iridescence there, add a dash of pollen, a bit of fragrance, and voila! You’ve got a winner. But when is a flower just a flower? They’re given as endearments, at celebrations, in times of sadness, to wish good health, or support. They’re planted with purpose to adorn buildings from everyday homes to corporate offices.
But its just a plant. A living thing that’s evolved to reproduce like anything else. Isn’t it funny how something without the capacity for speech can speak volumes? How something so beautiful can be nourished by things as unappealing as manure and compost?
I never took the time to appreciate flowers before today, when I found myself lying here, looking up at one, my vision growing dim. How many flowers have I seen in my life? I watch the blossom sway in a breeze, a smile on my lips.
It’s odd how you find yourself appreciating the mundane. How many times have I passed by these plants without seeing them? I mean really seeing them? Hundreds? Thousands? Right now it’s the only thing I can see, the last thing I’ll ever see.
I won’t close my eyes to the image. The world seems still and quiet. My breaths are louder than I’ve ever heard them, even though they’re weak.
Here I lay in the shadow of my silent, colorful witness. Will its life be cut short like mine was? I feel blood pooling beneath me. My time is almost up. I inhale one more time, taking in the faint, sweet aroma.
Maybe my body will sustain this little life a while longer. Maybe my death will bring something beautiful.
I don’t feel anything anymore. There’s only silence and the lingering image of a life in bloom.