wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

do you see a weed or a wish?

Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella.

Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed.

pulled up by its roots

discarded wishing flower tossed aside

left at the edge of the sidewalk

the sun beat down

life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling

desperate to hold onto being

funny, how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk

my thought to stop and pick up the mopped, fluffy head

full of wispy seeds of would-be, it held a fundamental artistry lying in the dirt

but I passed by, ignoring what I saw

how common, to turn aside

the day’s weight diminishes, repeating my steps

wishing flower waits, roots exposed, vulnerable and beautiful

a tender puncture, I stop … seeing a weed, I reach for the possible

In the morning I had the inclination to bring the frothy blossom home.  It’s exquisiteness haunting my thoughts.  Come evening, following a similar walk, the wishing flower was positioned in a poignant arrangement on the ground, lingering.  This time, the ending was altered.  I gathered it from its exiled pose. 

My wishing flower is an emotional snippet …

Missy

If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance