A week or so ago, as we climbed the first slope of the ridge on our trail toward home, we stopped to admire a cluster of mushrooms growing out of a broken birch stump. The next time we passed, they were gone.
I’ve always felt that beauty is enhanced by transcience. Some things in life—arrangements of cut flowers, balloons (except for those horrid mylar balloons—they last forever!) and, perhaps most of all, cute mushrooms—all fade and die in a very short time. They are best admired while they last, then allowed to go, leaving behind a pleasant memory. Much like live music, much like seasons, much like people.