There is a special link between Nordic countries, their cities and flowers. It seems that warm seasons make flowers grow lush and abundant, as if they would pay in some way their disarming shortness. During my last trip through Denmark, I spent a few days in Copenhagen. It's a beautiful easy-going city, full of parks, bicycles, and with great lively waterfront areas. Close to downtown, I found this little park and I stopped there just for a little rest. Suddenly, my attention was caught by this flower, so I took this shot. This white flower seems to live its best moment of its short life, but some petals show a sort of beginning of putrescence. I remember a superb song of Nick Cave “Where the wild roses grow”:

They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Elisa Day
Why they call me it I do not know
For my name was Elisa Day
From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one
She stared in my eyes and smiled
For her lips were the colour of the roses
That grew down the river, all bloody and wild
When he knocked on my door and entered the room
My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
He would be my first man, and with a careful hand
He wiped at the tears that ran down my face
They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Elisa Day
Why they call me it I do not know
For my name was Elisa Day
On the second day I brought her a flower
She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen
I said, "Do you know where the wild roses grow
So sweet and scarlet and free?"
On the second day he came with a single red rose
Said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow"
I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed
He said, "If I show you the roses, will you follow?"
They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Elisa Day
Why they call me it I do not know
For my name was Elisa Day
On the third day he took me to the river
He showed me the roses and we kissed
And the last thing I heard was a muttered word
As he knelt (stood smiling) above me with a rock in his fist
On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow
And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
And I kissed her goodbye, said, "All beauty must die"
And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth
They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Elisa Day
Why they call me it I do not know
For my name was Elisa Day
For my name was Elisa Day
For my name was Elisa Day
For my name was Elisa Day

After that, I thought all day long about the ephemeral beauty of nature, in some way almost cruel. Never let a petal fall in vain! Never!

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