​The Calculus of Petals

The garden does not count the days,

nor fret the coming frost;

it simply holds the amber rays

before the light is lost.

​We are the ones who measure bloom,

who fear the empty vine,

while lilies make a quiet room

of symmetry and spine.

​A rose is not a deadline met,

nor is the oak a chore;

they do not live in deep regret

of what they were before.

​They offer up their crimson breath

without a debt to pay,

and find a grace within their death

that we throw quite away.

​Behind the Poem: The Human Need for Control

​We live in a world obsessed with quantification. We track our steps, our calories, our "likes," and our productivity levels. We treat our lives like a balance sheet, constantly worried that we aren't "blooming" fast enough or that our "season" is passing us by.

​I wrote The Calculus of Petals while watching the first frost of the season settle on my backyard. I noticed how the plants didn't struggle against the cold; they simply folded inward. There was no anxiety in the garden—only acceptance.

​The Geometry of Peace

The phrase "calculus of petals" refers to the mathematical precision found in nature—the Fibonacci sequence in a sunflower or the fractal patterns in a leaf. Yet, despite this complex design, nature never feels "busy." It is a reminder that we can be complex, beautiful, and purposeful without being stressed.

​Lessons from the Lilies

In the second stanza, I mention "symmetry and spine." This is a nod to the internal strength required to stand still. Often, we think growth requires constant movement, but sometimes the most profound growth happens in the "quiet room" of winter, where we are stripped back to our essentials.

"Do you find it hard to slow down in a world that demands constant growth? Let me know in the comments."