Flowers are turning to seeds in the garden. It looks like a death. Their petals crumple and stain in earth-browns and red ochres, they bow and fail and fall.
Bees and florists seem to agree on the bloom’s moment of peak attraction: the opened bud, all invitation and sweet promise. However artful, the flower has an agenda, an ulterior motive to sell with a gloss of perfection. That moment passes but there is beauty in the fading flowers and it’s more subtle and complex. The hard-sell is over, here is a time of transformation and fulfillment, of real promise in the swell of a seed head or fruit.
Often we perceive the cycles of nature as moments, a series of highlights, and perhaps inevitably some moments stand out, frozen like film-stills, but there are moments in-between moments that escape attention. Dead-heading a rose yesterday I paused to look at the petals in my hand. They had been a waxy, pink blush but now they were turning the colour of old scrolls. It looked like a death but of course it wasn’t. It was just another transformation, a moment between the moments and one perhaps worthy of more attention.