It's not so much aging, as it is dying. I spend a lot of time searching for the perfect flower at the peak of it's beauty. Without bugs or blemishes...then I saw this formerly lovely lily wilted into the shape of a heart. Curling around the edges and folding in on itself. And I recognized myself in it. I could sense it's sigh of relief, a relaxation around not having to perform in the classic way. Contributing it's form in another, equally valuable manner. Without the pressure humans feel to pretend it is still in it's earlier phase of bursting potential. It's perfection has peaked, it is sliding down the other side of the mountain into the valley of repose, and release. It will begin to release it's stored nutrients into the earth enriching the soil and becoming the nutrients for the next blossom. The plant will continue to produce flowers, and the flowers will continue to dance in the breeze off the San Fransisco Bay. They will drink in the sun shining on the face of the rocky soil of Alcatraz. Even after I have gone.