FLOWERS

I’ve always wondered what makes flowers so beautiful.

People talk about their colors, their symmetry, their delicacy - how perfectly they follow the quiet mathematics of nature. But I think the real beauty lies in how short-lived they are.

A flower is the result of endless work. The right soil, the right light, enough rain, not too much wind. It survives storms, cold nights, and long stretches of waiting. And after all that effort, all that patience, it appears - sometimes for weeks, sometimes only for a day. Some bloom just for a few hours, like certain calla lilies that emerge once every few years, only to disappear before anyone notices.

That fragility isn’t a weakness. It’s what makes them remarkable.

Beauty is often a moment, nothing more. A brief expression of everything that came before it. In that sense, flowers remind me of Polaroids. They happen once, they exist fully in that moment, and then they’re gone—or they fade, change, soften. Their value is in their ephemerality.

And maybe that’s the thing:

Flowers are more patient than humans.

They wait. They endure.

And when the moment finally comes, they bloom without asking for anything back.