Notoriously difficult to photograph, this little stand of Scilla siberica has faithfully delivered some of the earliest blooms of the season, despite threat of snow (and often several inches of follow-through). One of the steadfast spring ephemerals, it rises, blooms, and falls in relatively quick succession, completing its entire show by the time summer begins in earnest, then disappearing from view and mind until early next spring. There is something exquisitely tender and sweet to such an effort, made perhaps more poignant by its fleeting timeframe. Maybe such beauty simply wasn’t meant to last – maybe that would take away too much of what makes it so beautiful. My mind isn’t wired to accept such things, and for most of my life I’ve sought out only that which might last.
Pure folly. Pure foolishness. Pure fucking idiocy.
And so I endeavor to change my perspective, to shift my way of thinking, at this later stage of life. When beauty is too often the sole balm in a world gone so completely mad we must cherish and embrace it whenever it arises, no matter how quick and fast it may be gone. How could I have entertained the idea of not having such moments at all simply because they wouldn’t last? There is grace in the briefest exchanges of kindness and pleasantry, grace in the merest brushes with beauty and love.
“And maybe we’ll meet again somewhere
Somewhere things don’t have to have an ending…”
