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Growth and stagnation, new and old, fresh and tired, life and death. Bottle green leaves sprout leisurely from their winter abode, signaling the first whiff of spring.  Centimetres away, papery flowers, once a pungent violet, lie decrepit and dying, awaiting the strong grasp of wind to tear them away.  

 

 

 

Thinning and emaciated. Reedy and cracked, the tea-stained petals droop forlornly. They are shadows of something beautiful, their spirit gone. Once, standing stiff and proud, they reigned as monarchs tainted in lavender hues. Birds and insects of all kinds would stop to admire their sweet scent and proud form. Now, only the wind pays attention as it sweeps by.

 

Frail remnants, wispily bowing in the bitter wind. Burnt and crackled twigs accompany dried out petals. Vein-like structures appear beneath stretched skin, sickly in tone. Fresh grass, healthy and new contrasts with the sordid sight, relishing life as one day, it too will die.