There is nothing more lovely than a flower. Colorful, sensual, maybe a little erotic. Only we humans see flowers for their beauty. Nature’s gift. Temporary perfection. In order to hopefully perpetuate their beauty, we buy millions of replicas made of plastic and silk. A poor substitute in my mind.
The cycle of life is unstoppable and these delicate blooms last but a short while. They all too soon shrivel and dry to be replaced by another. But wait. Look closely. There is beauty born anew in decay. Faded, wrinkled, fragile, yes, but lovely all the same.
My twenty-five-year-old cattleya orchid usually blooms twice a year, in spite of my neglect. The efflorescences are stunning, of course. But, as the blooms, pictured here, wither and decay, I am taken by their lingering loveliness. While not suggesting any loveliness, perhaps I am seeing a bit of myself here.
We often forget that WE ARE NATURE. Nature is not something separate from us. So when we say that we have lost our connection to nature, we’ve lost our connection to ourselves.