Dazzling Petals

And so time crawled all around me. I stood on that beach I once called home and wondered, near unaware, of all the seeds we had planted. Would I ever see them grow? Had they ever deserved to see daylight to begin with? Would my lack of observation be registered at all outside of my lonely sphere now inching through time?

As I completed these things, sprouts shot up, eagerly stretching skyward, the promise of something new to come. At first I knew not what they were, but seasons seemed to pass so quickly here for them, and they marched upward diligently until bursting into full bloom. Roses, first red and then a rainbow of colors. I considered, "if I am to be lost, at least it is a fine sight to see." Then I recalled I had no remarkable skill at gardening. She was somewhere far away, so who claimed these seeds' and sproutlings' design? Whose soil did they grow from, and what unseen waters fueled them forth? I lost myself once more as I stared in amazement, a captive yet not unwilling audience to Spring All At Once.

The buds did not slow though, as one might expect earthly flowers to do. The roses grew as I felt myself fade, tens and then hundreds of feet until it seemed I could no longer be found. At least in my absence beauty would cover the ground, truly Spring in Full Form. And shaded now, well beneath the petal canopy with just enough space to still reflect the colors all around, I could not help but think that at least if she never thought to look for me, my ghastly form would not startle her as she tromped through the rose garden. She would be clean once more, her mind would not be drawn to what lay below, as no shimmering reflection of a trace of me could be seen far beneath. It was calming, in a way, reassuring in another, that whatever damage I may have inflicted unintentionally in my travels here were now buried along with me beneath the most marvelous flowers one could imagine.

They truly were lovely. My last concern as thought faded entirely was that I hoped it would not be too suspicious that they grew straight up from the sand, daring tides and waves, claiming everything to the ocean's edge. How often do we see something we've always seen and never consider that it is not what has already been? Hopefully this instinct to accept what is presented would prevail long enough for my rest, and all that might remain of these dark memories would be deep roots, strong stems, and dazzling petals.