“The world is full of magic things patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W. B. Yeats

During a chilly walk in the park this morning, I saw in the distance what I thought were snowballs on the icy surface of the grand basin. But upon closer inspection, I found that someone had scattered carnations across the ice.

The I remembered other flowers I’ve spotted in the same area in past – including these two bouquets placed under this tree months apart.

And blooms scattered in streams like a sacrifice on multiple occasions.

For the first time I really started to wonder what is the reasoning behind these floral rituals – always in the park and always in or close to the water. Clearly this place is important to someone and they feel the need to do this often. I’d love to know why. But I love glimpsing a tiny piece of the page in their story. It’s lovely, melancholy, and sweet.