In between

“Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.”

William Wordsworth

DSC00545
(the dried remains of a crepe myrtle / Julie Cook / 2015)

Somewhere in between birth and death resides the beautiful. . .
Small and fragile, ever so demure, it begins. . .
Slowly at first, yet laced with excited energy. . .fullness eventually falls into place . . .
Bold
Strong
Even daring. . .
Yet never to be confused with
Pushy
Obnoxious
Or self-centered
Determination sets the cycle into motion
There is no turning back, no stopping what has started

And just as quickly as it began. . .
It all begins to fade, to go away, to change, to depart. . .
Slowly and ever so slightly
A tinge of brown,
A wilted droop,
A loss of vibrancy
Life juices dry as everything begins
Shrinking
Withering
Dying. . .

All that remains is the dried shell
A stiff skeleton of what was
No fragrance
No softness
No tender touch
Just sticky
Brittle
Brown

And so here we now sit. . .
Somewhere in between. . .
Waiting for the beautiful. . .

6 comments on “In between

  1. Fabulousness, missy! I love it. Indeed here we sit in the in between, but on this end at least the beauty has started oozing out already. Sadly if we get a late freeze like last year, some will live short lives only. But I shall enjoy what may as it comes. Hugs to my Georgia Peach! 🙂 ❤

    • Dearest Natalie—I thank you for reblogging the post—there are those things which one writes that often finds the writer wishing to stand upon the mountain top shouting it out to either others to please see or hear this, or it is something shouted out the Creator of all that is and every will be–as my mountain and venue are small in scope, I thank you for allowing me to stand upon your mountain—much much love to you—Julie

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