An introverted fleet

This morning, while I was doing a translation, I heard the petals of the peonies fall, one by one, slowly, with a soft sound, in slow motion. It was a caresse for the ears, and also for the eyes: the sound became visible, made of wind, white, like a falling star or a falling veil, revealing the essence, the truth, the death. In a silent sky the petal-sailing ship descends slowly, like in a game of snowflakes. The petals die caressing the naked air. I respect their time. They look like boats with no sail, with no destination. They are an amen, a let it be, a surrender, invisible and visible at the same time, determined in their last wandering. They are beautiful. They are unlimited flowers. An introverted fleet. A farewell. There is tenderness in those petals. I will leave them liying down on the floor for a while, so they can take all the time to bend over themselves.