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?




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

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