Wicker basket of flowers.

Bright orange shutters down framed this picture

Of a red bicycle leaning onto the edge of the wall to the right corner...

With a wicker basket at it's handle and randomly strewn blooms

In dazzling whites, reds and fuchsias...

The sunlight almost ebbing into the dusky skies heightened the colors.

Birds heading back to their snug aeries chirped happy little tunes as one.

Somewhere up on the tall branches a few leaves rustled.

Why hadn't those flowers found a vase with some water in it?

Why be plucked off their veins then...just to wither looking pretty for a brief moment?

I watched them wilt into the night slowly and steadily

One after the other they drooped over the fringe of their cradle or coffin...

How wasteful of the glory in this world!

Simple and sublime gets buried so often under the debris of humanness.

Without fail... isn't it?