Fragile Memory
Dear Heart

My thoughts wind round and round like silken ribbons circling a finger. They spin from moment to moment, memory to memory and smile to smile. My entire being fills with heat and I beam when your face settles in my imagination, but in person, with you before me, I can barely look your way without then glancing down at the ground. How strong is your pull, so magnetic that I cannot resist you, that I must look away lest I be consumed.

They say I am demure, a silent soul unsullied by confusing thoughts of this modern world or illicit dreams of forbidden pleasures. But they know me not, for how can one look inside the seeds of a weed and know the truth? We do not reveal ourselves fully until we flower, and then only for a short time. Those patient and lucky enough to possess open minds and open schedules will observe what we desire to show, at the time of our choosing.

One day I will catch your eye and return your glance. I will return the heat from your fiery eyes back with my unwavering gaze and then you will see that I have been waiting demurely for just the right time to blossom. I will know when is the right time, and until then, I shall wait. I may look soft and cool, but there is so much more to me. You will see. Please come back and visit often, Dear Heart, lest you miss your chance.

Please come back tomorrow for a new “Weed Image of the Day” and let me know which ones you like.

We and our weeds are so much more than what we first appear to be.

Unauthorized use, distribution and/or duplication of any of this material without the express written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

One Reply to “Demurely I Wait”

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