Rain dripping off the remaining fall flowers like the rain that dampens my soul.
Those flowers are quenched and flourish with the dreariness of the day, as I must do too...survival, through good and bad.
You can see only the rain, or you can choose to see how beautiful the yellow of the marigolds and the burnt red of the sedum look against the soaked and darkened wooden fence; the delicate white Rose of Sharon standing tall and almost glowing with white blooms; purple pansies planted in honour of Mother's Day gone by still basking with a vibrant pastel violet, resisting the cold nights that taunt the delicate petals; the shocking red wildflower blooms still popping up like intermittent bursts of love and hope; deep purple and white petunias still healthy and strong; and even the calming lavender finding purple rebirth against all odds.
Flowers grow, bloom and fight against the elements for their survival and their place of beauty for however long they can remain. Each one is different; unique in colour, shape and size...each one with its own special moments of perfection.
Life is a garden...which flower will you be?
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