The Gift – Fine Art Print

Flower petals are a lot like hands—each with their own symmetry and patterns. Our hands covered with lines that act as a mirror to our soul, carrying wounds and scars from our labors. Flower petals vary with each bloom, different patterns gracing their lace whispers. Some petals tear from a blustery day; others remain perfectly intact. Some bend towards the sun, while others crave the cooling comfort of shade. Some stems end up curling and falling, unable to stand upright in a bouquet; some would toss these blossoms, with little to no thought about how gorgeous they can be hanging down from a vase—adding dimension and depth to an arrangement that lacked personality. These peonies were golden reminders of our gentle rising, the way we transition and grow into these bodies and souls. As age is gifted, we begin to relinquish insecurities and constant comparison. Slowly and surely learning to embrace every freckle that resembles a shooting star, every over-thinking thought that we think i