We have loads of flowers in our yard-red, yellow (my late grandmother's favorites), & pink roses, as well as white cabbage roses. Huge bushes of gardenias which smell amazing when the wind blows just the right way, & these purple flowers on an almost tree size bush. Mom discovered that when they wither up they become heavy & break off, & the ground below is littered with the fallen flowers. They are very pretty, but the ones that fall off become a darker shade & are a much more beautiful, very different looking flower. The live ones remind me of the normals-people who don't have the chronic invisible illnesses. They give to the world. They add something. The wind picks them up & their scents fill the air. Many people I've talked to feel guilt over not being members of society who work, do good for their communities & add positive aspects to the world. Every Monday especially I feel such guilt that I'm home in bed when most people are out contributing to society. Having been a teacher I really feel as though I let my former students down. I'm the burdened withered up broken flower who now litters the grass. Though I much prefer the darker, richer shade of purple I've turned into, trying to get through the guilt is so heavy that my petals pull inward inside the center, become very heavy, & prematurely fall to the ground. I know my guilt is unfounded, yet it's still there, on the back burner of my conscience.
The flowers open full-we aren't sure what kind these are.
Dried up fallen ones that mom brought over last night.
The gorgeous colors of the dying, withered blooms.
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