As I went to open the gate of our driveway yesterday, a rose bud captured my attention.
She was perfect. Brilliant. Crimson. Tucked down, part way on the giant bush by the road. I couldn't help myself and reached out to pluck the pretty flower. Sprawled on the ground was a blue chicory and a tiny little patch of what looked like miniature daisies.
I gathered up my little impromptu bouquet and enjoyed it all the way to the farmer's market. Afraid to miss the moment, because any minute now we will have a hard freeze and all the flowers will be gone. I marveled at the perfection of that little rosebud. But when I got to market, I forgot to put it in some water and by the time I got home last night, the little bouquet was wilted and looking far less than perfect.
I stuck the little flowers in water anyway, and put them on the windowsill and as I work this morning, I see them and think about the fleeting perfection of that rosebud.