Wildflowers

Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of birds chirping in the branches of the maple tree outside my window. The leaves have started to turn a light shade of brown, some of them yellow, and the tree has thinned out to the point that squirrel fights and chirping birds catch my attention out of the corner of my eye. Saturdays are my most productive days, and this was no exception.

On my way home from getting groceries and running my car through the car wash, I spotted a red sedan with its hazard lights on, parked tightly against the curb on a a busy street. As cars rushed past the sedan, a young woman cautiously opened her door and slid out, into the street, and bounded up into the grass along the road. She reached in her pocket and removed a small, green package. She looked around briefly and then sprinkled the contents of the package into the mulch that lay in front of the neighborhood sign. Flower seeds.

I admire her spontaneity, her courage, her mind. In the spring, that bed of mulch may be overtaken by wildflowers, or maybe different colored zinnias; red, yellow, orange…Maybe the groundskeeper will grow tired of plucking what he assumes are weeds from the ground, and will skip the area for just long enough to allow a flower to bloom. Maybe no one maintains that area but once a year and the flowers will grow in luscious, bright bunches. Maybe nothing will grow. Maybe everything will grow. But then again, maybe nothing will grow.

“We are waves on the ocean, interacting with and affected by all the other waves that move and die and are washed up on the shore. We are each a breath, a song, a flower.”

~ Marc Hamer in Seed to Dust