“Exploring life through fiction, together.”

There used to be a fashion for country estates to ship in dead trees. Before combustion engines or steam power, they’d haul huge dead trunks and erect them in the foreground. Their raked, bare branches splayed, harsh against the soft leafy backdrop.

Fiction Bite - Wilting

Whose idea was it to bring flowers to hospital patients? Bunches of riotous colour shoved in a makeshift vase. Glorious life against the cheerful grey walls and the humming yellow-green lights. You wait with bated breath for the buds to unfurl into sumptuous reds, or snowfall whites. There is little else to do when confined to bedrest.

The flowers reach their peak, and you feel you’re only a step behind. A few more days and you’ll escape. They’d look good on the dining room table.

The petals wrinkle and discolour, the stems warp. A nurse tries to throw them out, but you resist. You watch them shrivel and curl, gaining a different beauty as they die.

As the last petal drifts to the floor, you’re no longer scared of death. Not if you can die like the flowers. It would be nice to be beautiful again.

Quote of the Week

“Drink and be merry, for such shalt thou be when thou art dead” - Spoken alongside a visual reminder of death at Egyptian feasts, as reported by Michel de Montainge in That to Philosophize is to Learn to Die. 

Book recommendation - The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry [Children’s Fiction]

Final Words

I left some tulips to wilt in the vase the other week, inspired by Vanitas. I enjoyed their slow demise as much as their vibrant beauty from the days before. The cycle of death and life has also been a joy of allotmenting. The shoots of spring are more lifegiving after the withering cold of winter. Yet the leafless tree and the frozen ground has its own life, it’s own song to sing. I know this, sometimes I practice it, but so often I behave as if I’m immortal. In A Mother’s Confession, Amanda Palmer talks about a relative who “survived the Warsaw ghetto, and she always says ‘I love you’ When she sees you cos she knows you never know“. Do I always take the opportunities the day gives me? Will I always say I love you, or will I assume you know? How often do I let my chances slip by? 

With Love,

Josiah

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