Morning coffee on the terrace amidst flowers and shrubbery. Hues of green with light filtering through and a palette of colour that makes my private space a place of serenity.

Pink Mandeville’s, every year, because they are resilient and take me all the way till November. Absolute beauties. 

I spy a bloom that has disconnected and now is hanging ever so gracefully, in some magical way to a bloom that is yet to open.

The first words I hear in my head, are, “Hang on.”

And then, I hear myself, say, “No. Let go”

The flower that is ready to depart and the bloom that is preparing to open in all its grandeur.

“Hang on,” I hear first, because this is what I have always done. Convince myself, talk myself in to  giving more, doing more, the stiff upper lip mentality. Talking myself into believing they will somehow see me, all I do and am and love me,  value me.

But, they weren’t convinced of my value and they didn’t see me.

And like the fading bloom, I open my fists of determination, of stubbornness and I let go and I float upon a passing breeze, and I am gone.

Gone.

And now a new bloom will open.

Where I can flourish. Where I am recognized and welcomed.

I go inside to refill my coffee cup and when I return, the flower that was adrift and yet still clinging, was gone.

I no longer need to cling, when it is time to go.

I give thanks for what was, I send love for what I received and I embrace what is yet to come.

Photos by; Sharon Cooke