The Weight of Petals

Morning arrives in layers. First, the gray. Then, the slow gold of the river. We carry things into the day, heavy with expectation, yet the hands remain open.

To hold a flower is to hold a brief promise. It does not ask for permanence. It only asks to be seen before the sun climbs too high and the heat takes the scent away. We are all merchants of such small, fading things. We trade in moments that have no name. We offer them to the water, to the current, to the vast, indifferent flow of time.

What is given away is never truly lost. It is only released.

Do the petals remember the hand that held them, or only the river that takes them home?

Shikchit Khanal has captured this quiet exchange in the image titled Varanasi Flower Girls. The river holds their grace as surely as the morning holds the light. Will you pause to watch the water move?