Does the bud not stand for all things?A flowering waiting to happen.To unfurl into fluorescence.Everything flowers.

Even those that do not flower, flower from within into a many-petalled self.A sacred blooming to themselves.For everything flowers.

Perhaps this is not a mystery.Perhaps it is.Yet Life is made of this.

That we feel the space between ourselves and the spinning stars, that we feel the weight of those gone before us, lost in time, is a mystery.Perhaps it is not.

Life is made of this.Everything flowers.