The Way it Is

dried-roses

If you were to sit in my dining room, you might think it strange that I have a dead plant.

But I think it is beautiful.

I haven’t been able to part with these dried roses. They do not mean death to me. Their papery petals and brittle leaves that crumble if touched are a symbol of fragility; their aged and faded flowers a reminder of the movement of time.

There will come a day when I will replace this plant that did not survive with a fresh and green and thriving one. But for now, I enjoy its loveliness just the way it is.

Fading Season

fading season

Even at the end, there is beauty to be found.

What was once lush and green is now dry and brittle. The signs of life that summer saw slowly fade away. Life rests below the surface now, the roots at rest until another spring.

Late fall is a monotone of browns, the colour of comfort: a cup of tea, rich chocolate, cinnamon spice, toast in the morning.

It is a sepia photograph.