Later yesterday, I found a single glass jar that had escaped the fate of its brethren.  I would have taken it to the city today to dump it with the others in the glass container, but instead I pulled the flowers up from the trash can and put them in the the glass jar with water.  That way they will die more slowly, and isn’t that what we all want?

Under the perspective of eternity – or even geology – we are all withering like flowers at the height of our strength.  But each day is another day.  For now, I feel fine.  Well, except for the mowing of the lawn.  “What does not kill us makes us stiff and sore.”