Flowers on a picnic table

Flowers on a table; an empty table. These beautiful multicoloured roses use sitting there all alone. Of all the stories these lonely flowers could tell, is it a tale of loneliness, one that’s forgotten or sorrowful? Is it a reminder of love lost or one that’s departed? Of all the things in places, why here? Why at the beach on an overcast Saturday morning…

That is something that I cannot answer, nor could anybody else; unless the owner arrives to collect these forgotten beauties. Or perhaps a new owner arrives to state their claim…who knows. It’s like when they say ‘if a tree falls alone in the forrest would it make a sound, or because there is no one there to hear it, is there only silence?’ Could these flowers stay there forever? Perhaps, but unlikely. There would be someone at some stage come along and pick them up and most likely dispose of them in the nearby rubbish bin.
Although cut and purposely arranged in wrapped plastic, they are but disposable, whether now or in three days; or perhaps they will last a week? At some stage they will wither away, dry up and unfortunately become but a memory on this earth. Like almost all things in this life, death is but a given. Somethings may still ‘exist’ but all will eventually leave this world, but that is neither here nor there, is it? It’s not something to dread. It’s not something to worry about, at least for now. 

It’s complicated thought, that if grasped appropriately, grounds you to the now and forces you to make the choice to live fully and die trying, or live a half life; a cursed life…okay so I ‘borrowed’ that last part from Harry Potter…shoot me. What I am saying is there is no right or wrong answer. There are only but choices that we make on our own accord.

These flowers for instance, someone else made the decision for them and now they are sitting abandoned on a cold aluminium picnic table on the esplanade of a seaside town, doomed to carry out the rest of their futile existence alone. It was not their choice, however they do not have a brain; unlike me, a person and a brain (I hope) I do have.

Here I am sitting down at the beach, overlooking the slow crashing of waves and listening to the gentle rumble of the sea, caught up in the all the potential explanations as to why these flowers are here and what they mean, but that is my choice. As it what I write and who gets to see it.

Life is all about choice and now that I accept that, and beginning to truely understand that word…choice…I only hope my life will be able to lived the way in which I want to live it; not because of other people’s choices, decisions or lack thereof. I am but a vessel for my brain to have adventures in. I at least have to make it worthwhile, don’t I?

Stay awesome šŸ˜‰

The Girl in the Green Shoes (or rather brown “thongs” being at the beach…be sure to google the Australian definition of thongs, like the ones you wear on your feet)

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