As my son’s Aunt prepares to die, the earth prepares to come to life.
That’s the way things are, an endless dance of celebration and mourning.  We are reminded that we live as others are dying.  We are reminded that everything comes back somehow.  These are not the same buds, not the same flowers that I saw last year.  They are different, born of the same branches, or new branches, but born and born again.
2015-03-01 04-01-15 Flowers 001

2015-03-01 04-01-15 Flowers 038

2015-03-01 04-01-15 Flowers 031


2 thoughts on “Irony”

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