A few weeks ago I got my Mom flowers.
As I exited my room and made my way downstairs, I couldn’t help but notice the bright, beaming glare of the sun pierce through the glass door at the front of the house.
The sunlight cast over a vase of roses my Mom placed at the bottom of the stairs.
I was drawn to the flowers and soon learned the stage of the life they had entered.
The dusty purple roses were dying.
It’s a little bit sad seeing flowers die, but then I remember it’s simply a part of life.
Does the aging of the rose or the dulling of its colour really take away from it’s beauty? No.
Do the falling petals make the rose less valuable?
We are all aware that everything has an expiry. I will age, I will expire, and I will die. As our youth escapes from underneath us, and we begin to dull, we begin to age, and we begin to fall, does this change our value?
Just as the roses petals turn grey and lose their saturation, I too will acquire wrinkles, grey hairs and the marks of wisdom.
My grandmother is as beautiful as ever and I think this morning proves why.
An aged rose is as beautiful as an aging rose.