The beauty of something old

This morning I awoke to the sweet smell of freshly washed earth. We were blessed with a powerful 12-hour rain, raging at times, and then just a steady dribble that kept me guessing as to when it might be okay to do the weekly grocery shopping without the hassle of my temperamental umbrella.

I know the people in the mid-west and east might think me crazy expressing my joy with rain when they have lost so much, and I have prayed for their recovery.

Life, unfortunately, is never fair or balanced, be it the weather or burdens we are asked to carry. 

As I stood in the rain for a while, I noticed the sorry state of my gardenia bush. I am known to have a black thumb when it comes to nurturing plants, but as I gazed at two flowering stems, I realized this bush personified more than an outside plant.  It represented, at least to me, life.

 Two blossoms drew my eyes, one young and thriving, and the other old yet still fragrant, offering the last it had to give.

We should never forget the beauty found in something old. If we remember what we have learned it is not hard to cherish what has been given.

It is up to each individual to search for balance, to take what is put in our path and move forward, alone or finding the courage to ask for help.

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