These days, the streets of my city are littered with flowers. I see them wafting down from trees where they seem to be crowded for space. I find them there, on the sidewalk, on the street. Trampled, crushed, browning, fading, they lie in the dust and grime. I try as much as I can, to avoid stepping on them, walking my way around them. I find in them, a certain poignancy. A few hours of glorious bloom and there they are, on their way to dissolution. These flowers don't cling on to branches. They leave when their time comes. They dissolve into nothingness. The ephemeral, transient nature of beauty. I think, maybe, the twinge of grief I feel, is a creation of my mind. For them, in all probability, the coming into being and dissolving is all about joy.
