Then the wind came in with Bart and blew the vase of roses from the table. I stood and stared down at the crystal pieces and the petals scattered about. Why was the wind always trying to tell me something? Something I didn't want to hear!

Life is uncertain.Today you get a rose.Tomorrow you feel the thorns.But the end result is red, always!!

Gray.The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me.Gray...

We are Darwin__ confetti. Some of us fall on bare rock. No matter how good you are, you can fail spectacularly. Just because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or just because of some fatal flaw. Nothing to do with talent.

The rose has toldIn one simplicityThat never lifeRelinquishes a bloomBut to bestowAn ancient confidence.

And the shower of roses spun around me, inviting me to take part in their ever-present waltz.