On Thursday as I was leaving my grandmother's work I noticed a perfect, beautiful white hibiscus lying on the pavement. It must have just fallen from its stem. I remarked on it then, but I don't remember what I said now, and happily picked it up.
Then I noticed that it was also swarming with ants, so I dropped it again and with a slight regret went on my way.
Dropping the flower has haunted me ever since. For when I returned to the same spot the next day, I glanced down as I walked past and saw the poor flower still there, but now slightly bruised. The recent rains battered it to pieces, and I saw its whiteness fade to a fragile, weary grey.
Today I saw it again: a shrivelled, sad, hideous thing, crumpled at the side of the path. And I thought: Could I have saved it? If I had taken it home, put it in the empty vase upon my dresser, would it still be lovely?
I think there's a powerful metaphor in there somewhere . . .
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Geez girl... do you have to make me think so hard when I'm so tired? Honestly, I must've spent the last several minutes going through all the possiblities. The beauty of white flowers is somewhat a confusing one for me. Part of me sees that lovliness, whilst anotehr part of me associates white flowers with funerals and death. So in a way, the ants crawling over a white hibiscus is like the death part, and it certainly faded and died. Yet, you might have been able to shake the ants off and keep the flower lovely and alive. So many options...
ReplyDelete-Laura