Wild Blue

Atop a dry exposed cliff stand I. But I do not stand idly.

Desolation and harshness are the names I call the rocks that crumble at my feet as I stand my ground. I pierce. I puncture. I expand. I push back. I grow. I am a weed and I belong where I want to be, not where someone says I might be allowed.

So here at the top of the dry cliff I strengthen my hold on this earth and turn my face up to the sun and to the wild blue sky. One might think I am a small soft flower, insignificant in the scope of mountains and rocks and shrubs, trees and sky. The hawks that soar high up above pay me no mind and the trees that sway in the same breeze as I are indifferent to me. I know my stature is small, but that is only one measurement.

I have dreams that span the universe and I have power to move mountains. My thoughts are as deep as the mountains are high and my will to survive cannot be crushed into sand. I shall stay and claim the day as I release my scent to draw bees to me and with their gracious cooperation improve the world, one sun bleached spot at a time.

I claim this spot as mine and I name this my wild blue sky.

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.

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