The flowers in my garden are all starting to die. My first reaction when I see them is sadness. I've loved watching the garden this summer, seeing them grow together in a symphony of color. I could cut them down, tidying up the garden, but when I look again, I see their beauty. Just because they are tattered doesn’t mean they are worthless. Many provide seeds that the birds will feast on. Others will reseed, leaving their mark on next year’s garden.
There is so much beauty in aging. These flowers are perfect in their imperfection. Their beauty in the garden is just a different kind of beauty. Instead of feeling sadness, I feel calm that their job is almost over. I thank them for all of the joy they’ve brought me this year.
Their journey reminds me that we, like the flowers, are all aging. We will all go through this process if we are fortunate enough to reach this phase. Our waists may thicken, our arms become flabby, our hair turn gray, and our movements slow down, but we still have so much to offer.
A touching and lovely description of the end of garden season.
Beautiful Linda. I love how you’ve written this. On our side of the world our flowers are just starting to burst open. I love the changes of season