Dry & Spent

Cornflower seeds. I just love how they look like little rockets

It’s harvest time. It thrived in color for a short while.  The future lays dormant in something that appears lifeless but bound to bring about new life in due season.

I twist and squeeze the flower head.

What comes out of you when you feel squeezed, dry and spent?

Anger?

Bitterness?

Frustration?

Or do you shoot little rockets of supplication up to the sky?

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