Pressed Flowers ~ Crushed but not Destroyed
Gravel grumbled beneath my boots as I hiked up Nightbird Gulch. The ominous rainclouds hovering around mountain peaks seemed to mirror the sorrow in my heart. All around, slopes turned that special hue of minty green that comes after a spring rain in the Rockies. In the meadows, wildflowers of every color and shape stretched towards heaven. They bobbed their heads in the breeze, celebrating to some celestial music unheard by mortal ears. I lamented the fact that in a month or so the summer sun will let its heavy heat fall upon these fields, and the buds will fade and drop. That is the way of everything on this earth; it all passes away too quickly. “For the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes.” (James 1v11). If only I could preserve these graceful petals, these exquisite shades of yellow and red and purple! My thoughts turned to human life, and how fragile we are. I continued ruminating on these things as I reach