When the sun hit this bush last month it sparkled purple and today, after a freeze, it reminds me of a renaissance painting, sensual and rich.  Ironic since it’s actually quite dead.

Looking at the picture I have the urge to reach in and run my fingers over the flowers imagining they would be soft and tender rather than what they are in reality – brittle and crisp.

There’s a meaning lurking within this photo that remains hidden for me.  I stare and stare on and off through the afternoon.  What is the secret buried behind the petals?

No response.  How silly to expect a photo to speak.  And if it spoke, what might it say?

Maybe it would tell me to look for the beauty all around me.  Often in unexpected places.  But always to be cherished.  If it spoke to you, what would it say?