There is a flower in silence and motive that causes thoughts of interrupted solitude.
For a while, grand illusions grew out of its brightness and reach.
It might have been as beloved as bluebells, trembling stems and tiny flowers spread in a fragrant mist as far as the eye could see.
Such an easily admired effect. All was good. And understood. Azure waves in daylight, scented stars at night. An audience that wanted nothing more or less.
Until it was growing in less predictable ways and places. At least by those expecting it to always sparkle and sway the same.
I’ve known this self-seeding flower forever. It comes and goes, disappearing as it has to, reappearing where it will, not to anyone else’s design; perhaps, not even to its own.
Well, it knows better.
Controlling this flower is a challenge. Pull it out and throw it away; being perennial it will merely find new ground. Its vulnerability finds strength in escaping boundaries that other sorts obey.
Its roots have a habit of curiosity and continuity. Lost and found in shade and filtered sunlight, its leaves hold out for dew.
There is a rumor that God almost forgot this flower, but I have never believed it. Another, closer to the truth, claims the weight of armor almost drowned a chance for it to speak its truth.
Not all were strangers, not the little myosotis stars bursting unforgettably through the dirt and grass.
“They always come up in legions, no matter how I thin them.”
Somehow she knew what her father was saying, feeling a return of pleasure when he gave her the bouquet he had made with a few tiny daisies, too.
~ From To A Strange Somewhere Fled
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