My back yard has been desolate for so long. It’s a simple patch of earth. Nothing more than the size of my apartment, really. Grass refuses to grow. Mounds of dirt and ant beds do well. But, it has been a great haven to enjoy because of it’s privacy. The bougainvillaea and bird of paradise have been darling. And it’s nice to be outside. I need the sunlight. Desperately. I like going out early mornings. And just at the hint of dawn I’m drawn to how sadly dead my back yard was. I even bought some wildflower seeds, had them scattered about to give life to it. But, sadly….nothing ever happened. I blame the birds.
However, I woke recently to see a patch of green. Yes, the whole back area was noisily screaming in a shriek of green begging to admired. And dotted about were speckles of purple flowers all alight with brightness and standing to give announcement. “Good Morning!” Clovers had over run my little back patch, and sadly, all who came to witness it whispered to themselves, “You’ve got weeds.”
Well, you know what? One man’s weed is another man’s wildflower. I was happy to see the vibrancy. Happy to be met in the morning with color and brightness. Happy to enjoy the frail little flowers as the punched through the earth and swallowed up whatever dew and sun they wanted.
Random flowers blooming here and there, not sheltered by the ideas of cultivation of heredity, blossom where they will and as they wish.
So that was what I put on my list tonight of my 30 Days of Gratitude. Wildflowers. For, they are a great metaphor for the personage in which we see ourselves and each other. Be mindful, or better yet, be skeptical of the environmentalist driving a Prius with a weedless yarn. Be nervous of people who claim that weeds are menaces. That is a weird social view of, “Only some of you belong. I’ll get rid of you that don’t.”
So, be a weed. Bust through the earth and claim your place in the sun, let your little petals float in the crisp morning air, and let your bright, simple colors be spied upon. As you stand proudly next to a bulb of irises, be triumphant in your equal importance. Shuttle up close to roses and daisies and share the sun with them. Smile and be reminded that someone thinks you belong.
One man’s weed is another man’s wildflower, and the only crime a wildflower is charged with is being too simple in the wrong spot. But, I promise you, if many of you gather together at once in a simple patch of green, you’ll be seen as the beauties mama nature intended. Just as I saw in that great patch of clover.
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