My wife draws my attention to the back yard, where we have planted a memorial garden, of a sort, for our son.
"Did you see all that color and brightness?" she asks.
I had seen, but not really seen.
So I go outside and stare at the scarlet cone-flowers, the sunny black-eyed susans, the deep, vibrant purple of the butterfly bush.
Of course, the display is nothing like it was in July, when it seemed every inch of the garden was a riot of color and shape.
But still, the blooms are welcome, especially after they seemed to disappear completely in late August and into a hot September.
They are rebounding, if only for a little while. A last gasp of beauty before the frost.
I enjoy their beauty, even as I know that the frost will soon take it away.
It reminds me that beauty does not have to be spectacular to be beauty: it doesn't have to take your breath away. Sometimes it only needs to serve as a reminder that beauty exists, and that winter will not defeat it. It can only delay it a bit.
I need that reminder.
I need to remember to appreciate the flowers of late October, and, in some way, emulate them.