Whitefish River such fleeting beauty

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Oh how tragic it was, the see the life drain from the beautiful petals of something the child loved. How sad it was to see them wilt and diminish, soon they would all be gone. The child knew plucking them shortened their life, she had seen her mother taking those that she gifted her weeks prior to the river. It was to male room for new ones but it did not make the little girl less sad that her flowers never seemed to last.

The child stared at a few strands of stubborn lavender, calmed and soothed by a scent she could hardly smell. Their gentle color meant royalty, something of elegance. Their meaning perfectly clear. Silence and serenity, devotion and calm, grace and purity. She would simply stare at the dying flowers all day, they were beauty, they were her most treasured thing.