This week I gathered up the dying flowers that remained from my son's wedding reception. It was a reluctant task, not just because it's very messy with organic crumbs showering the tables and floor but because emotionally I was not ready to part with them. Everyday I tried to be "present" with the many bouquets scattered about the house. Their fragrance, texture, style... beauty brought me peace inside. My outward worries of our fragile economy combined with my new and still unprofitable career path subsided when in their presence. Nothing could really be wrong when such beauty exists. But in the mess of cleaning up the mostly decayed, wilted remains I saw a new kind of beauty. Roses were soft melted masses that when touched scattered petals . I gently gathered them up, inhaled their fragrance and felt there baby-like softness. Visually they were still interesting and eerily still beautiful. Grabbing my camera I took shots of this "new" beauty. They in their slow demise they were still lovely. Maybe the next step will be a painting?