Fallen petals, from an azalea bush that's in an obscure corner of our garden, under the collapsing terrace, that we never tend, but that nevertheless thrives and blooms, pinkly. I'm sure there's a metaphor there, somewhere. The azalea's future is somewhat in jeopardy - when we have the terrace rebuilt, it'll have to be moved, and azaleas aren't keen on transportation. On the other hand, given the glacial speed with which surveys, design etc are happening (or not happening), it might have another decade or two in place before we see to where, and how, it can best be relocated.
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