It is the end of flowers, or so it seems. The time of flowers is closing. Just a few remain.

The lovely hydrangeas have gone to subtle leathery shades. By now a diligent gardener would have snipped them clean. “Cut them back and they’ll bloom better next year,” I’ve been admonished. But things dying have a gentle beauty of their own.

What is it like to be the last flower left?

To be the last petal clinging? To know that you are all that keeps the end of flowers from happening?

To take one last gasp and float down to oblivion?

It takes 225 to 250 million years for the sun to make one orbit around the galaxy. 125 million years or so from now, earthlings peering through telescopes will be looking at the other side of the galaxy.

Traveling at the speed of light, it would take 100,000 years to reach the other side. Or you could stay put on earth and get there in 125 million years. Though, since everything else is swirling around too, can you really say you are on the other side?

That far in the future, will anyone be noticing the ending of another season of flowers? I like to think so, though what will humans even be 125 million years from now?