For one brief, breathless moment it is perfect—the fragile blossoms untouched by heat or wind, the butterfly another blossom on the move. That is the price of perfection. It isn’t stable. It can’t last for more than a fleeting moment before the inevitability of change claims it.
What have you experienced as a moment of perfection?
A snowfall that is always a different one but during that brief time, a thing of beauty that can last forever in one’s memory. The shapes that form on tops, sides and bases of ordinary things are transformed into some kinds of things of interest, beauty and intemperance. That’s what makes then so precious.