The burst of purple firework emerges from the unlikeliest of buds. The bush is like a puff of starburst and it stops me in my tracks to consider the fleeting beauty that is around me. I compare ones just beginning to blossom to those in full bloom and think to myself about metamorphosis. Caterpillars and butterflies and the truth that all things go through changes. Years ago my Mom gave me a book called Wisdom. There are beautiful portraits of people who have weathered years and have something to impart. I love this book for the photos and the insights. Metamorphosis is defined as a change in physical form. I am struck by the recognized faces in the book and the physical change they have undergone as they approached the age of being wise. If Metamorphosis is a physical change, what do you call it when the change isn’t physical? I look at myself, and CF, and I see remnants of the way we have looked through the years layer upon layer, year upon year. I think to myself that the real beauty is in the change you don’t see.