I found a Magnolia bud on the sidewalk the other morning.

Having been shaken loose by the wind the night before, it lay in perfect repose among the other fallen things; leaves, twigs, moss. Unlike these other things however, things ready to loosen their grasp on the tree, things who understand the lifecycle, know instinctively their place in it, this bud was wrapped tight, full of life and protecting the potential within.

I took it inside.

Stood it upright in a coffee cup filled with tepid water. Kept an eye on it though out the day. Remarked on its fragrance permeating the kitchen.

Floated it in a bowl when I sensed the outer petals straining against the confines of the limited edition Starbucks mug I picked up on a whim while standing in line waiting for a drink just pretentious enough to get me noticed but not enough to be annoying.

Released from the restraints of the mug, allowed to float free in the bowl, it relaxed and unfurled and promptly revealed the decomposition of all of its layers.

I have noticed Magnolia flowers on the tree. Remarked at how quickly the sun burned their fragile petals, turning them from latte foam to coffee grounds within days. It seems it was not the sun at all, burning their petals, but merely a natural part of the lifecycle.

I wished in that moment, I wished all at once, that I had left it underneath the sky, with the rest of the fallen things, to feel the sun for just awhile longer before nature took its course.