The last bouquet of tulips continues to fail and to die, with utmost grace and beauty.
Even the stems alone have beauty.
So I shall continue to revisit this gift-on-the-kitchen windowsill for a while to come.
It can be rewarding to poke your eyes where they don’t usually go.
Old age can be beautiful.
Senescence can be beautiful.
Death can be beautiful.
I know this from experience.
For I was holding my aged father’s hand at the moment he died.
He died at home, in his own bed, with his family around him.
His was a good, and a beautiful death.