Fireflowers

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I took a walk in town, same walk I do every day at lunch. It’s on a graffiti-covered bike path with a small (not so pretty) stream running next to it. The vegetation is mostly long grass, small shrubs, and blackberry brambles (Side note: I always thought “bramble” was an odd word, but once I saw a blackberry bramble I had no doubt of the meaning of the word!).

It doesn’t sound like anything special, and maybe even a little questionable as a place for a “nice” walk. But it is nice. It’s good to get away from work for a short time and walk with my dogs, who are lucky enough to come to work with me every day. It’s nature-y enough, even though it’s nothing special.

On this day in particular, I noticed something I hadn’t before: nature making its own fireworks, a mini-celebration of the cycles of life and death. What really caught my eye were the dried remnants of a flower long past its prime, still standing tall and shooting its sparks up for all to see. No more petals, no leaves, just a dried stalk waiting to return to the earth for the next round.

Nearby were some purple (Goat’s beard?) flowers, celebrating just as much as their dried counterparts.

It’s not hard to find beauty in nature.

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