Outside the window where I sit is the wildflower garden that I planted a month or so ago. This little dead garden has been on a murderous, pillaging crusade since the day we moved in some 10 years ago. It gets too much sun in the Summer and maybe too little water in the Winter. Nothing I have ever planted from vegetables to herbs to berries to anything has survived its death scythe.
Until now. I guess it makes sense. Wildflowers are nothing more than glorified weeds. Weeds are clever and enterprising, unflinching. At the same time they are delicate and pretty, wanting to be admired but afraid that admiration may cause someone to realize they are only a weed and in need of pulling. Maybe that’s why I like them so much. I can relate.
This garden makes me happy when I stare out to it for a break from work or thinking about a scene or just admiring the day. It’s turning into an explosion of color, probably another good metaphor for me. Hurricane Mia isn’t thrown around lightly by those who know me.
I saw on Twitter the ‘me as a flower’ challenge. I thought about doing it but then I forgot and then it was over by the time I got up the next morning. I move a little too slow for SM. So if you had to ask me I’m a wildflower garden – bold, uncompromising, resilient, a little delicate, occasionally pretty, and enduring.