As a kid, he loved the striking orange flowers that burst on the scene every June. They were everywhere: along roadways and hillsides, around foundations, in his backyard. Within a month, though, they were gone.
He asked his mother what they were called. Daylilies, she said.
The long-stemmed flowers captivated him. It wasn’t just their beauty. It was knowing they wouldn’t last.
Now he sat in his small room, looking out his window at a patch of daylilies, thinking about his life, knowing it was drawing to a close, fairly amazed by how beautiful and brief it had been.
He asked his mother what they were called. Daylilies, she said.
The long-stemmed flowers captivated him. It wasn’t just their beauty. It was knowing they wouldn’t last.
Now he sat in his small room, looking out his window at a patch of daylilies, thinking about his life, knowing it was drawing to a close, fairly amazed by how beautiful and brief it had been.
