It is not as if this swathe of  flowers, or might that collective be a swoon of roses, glimpsed through a doorway, is not enough in itself to give one pause, but there is something else here-  the grainy light, the sense of dusk and shadows merging, the setting sun’s surge of colour that this early morning tableau paradoxically evokes, but more potently, in considering this scene, it is that the temporality of lovely things that cannot last is not in any way mournful,  but that  not to notice, not to to look closely, would be.