the beauties we become
|Hydrangea, drying and changing to blush.|
|A little tomatillo, never quite developed, skeleton-ing itself.|
The other day I walked to gather what was left of my tomatillos before the frost set in. Along the way I saw many reminders of the summer; flowers preserving themselves: hydrangea drying, transforming from a creamy white to a blush; leggier flowers dropping petals and leaving seed pods to hang precariously, a promise of later heirs. Then there were those too small to make it, shocked by the cold, caught in a gasp; plants like the tomatillos, those not picked in time now dry, skeletal reminders--a ribcage with a heart still remaining.
Looking at these things, I wondered at the beauty that is hidden in everything. What is special about us that we don't always notice?