At least twice I noticed these dried-up flowers, planned to take them out, and forgot. Old age, memory slip? Or a subtle gift? Getting old pushes further into beauty, loving
“in a certain sense, between all living things. Life is attracted to life. Beauty is attracted to both beauty and brokenness—which is a good description of all that lives./ Life is fragmented and finite and yet part of a larger and attractive whole. We long to be with this wholeness” (Richard Rohr, Near Occasions of Grace, p. 33).
This third time noticing the flowers, not just dried-up, but broken-beauty breaks through shuttered sight. Having read the passage and taken it in, I'm taken out, camera in hand, as an opening allows a certain further sense, a searching, even longing, toward the sense of beautiful brokenness, a window for wholeness--
