Still We Dance

two woodland sunflowers
Still We Dance

Though our garments be tattered still we dance until the end of our season, and the next remove our memory from this place.

Not a quote from another’s writing, just what came to mind as I walked the trail enjoying the sprinkle of wildflowers along the edge. These two sunflowers looked as if they were holding hands and dancing and I thought of young girls in pretty dresses at a festival centuries ago. Then I noticed the flowers were more than a little ragged, missing petals, missing parts of petals, yet still they danced. It was not lost on me that I saw the joy first, and if I hadn’t stopped to photograph these two, as looking through the lens gives me a more literally focused look, I would probably not have noticed the ragged dress. But, indeed, soon they will be gone, with the first frost, or the second, and the memory of their moment be all that is left. Am I the only one who will remember them?

And what of the metaphor for me, for us?

I guess autumn is the time for such thoughts.

Read more:   Essays   ♦  Short Stories  ♦  Poetry

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