We ask that you honor the generosity of our contributing writers by not posting their work elsewhere, or otherwise disseminating it without the author's permission. The yellow irises are so pale. The boy's body is thrown backwards. His face is slapped by a flower, and yet he is struck inward by the power of green and blossoming things. No, I think he is only momentarily stunned by May's beauty.
Spring does that to one.
The earth so lush and vital, regenerating from those who are dead, yet 'tis neither sad nor tragic. Yes, flowers throw us down. But pick us up again. The next generation notes natural beauty, the glory of life growing. Cannot be denied.