I’ve been parched. I’ve been dry. My throat was raw and my eyes were red and puffy. Things I’d been able to see were blurred, or dull, without texture or importance. I have been moving as if in fog, uncertain which direction to turn, or even if there was room for me to turn. And what would I turn toward?
I’ve been in a drought. A slow and steady drying out. A drinking of my skin, my earth, my roots. It happened so steadily and slowly over time that I did not see it for what it was. I kept adapting, and shifting my expectations and my workload, carrying heavier burdens as I weathered longer days of heat and sunshine that failed to ignite the spark of life, but only deadened the worn out bits that were trying to cling to life.
But, after a long long while…
the rains came. Not enough, they said, to wipe away all the damage, but some rain. Enough rain fell to allow small seeds to sprout. Enough water soaked into the ground to give life a chance and a hope that it would not fail. Rainbows are glorious, but this, this little display is a real celebration. A tiny chorus of beauties dared to come to life and bloom and open up to look joyfully and unflinchingly at the sky. So tiny, so bold, so possible, they are.
“My name is not pretty,” whispered the chorus, “but we think we are gorgeous. We are Amaranthus blitoides, or prostrate pigweed (if you insist on using common names).” I smiled to see such tiny beauties, blossoms no bigger than a grain of rice. I smiled as my earth began to hold life again. I smiled to see such promise at my feet.
Thank you, rain. Thank you seeds. Thank you those who held out hope.
We and our weeds are so much more than what we first appear to be. Please come back again for a new “Weed Image of the Day” and let me know which ones you like. Even better, look down at the world that teems with life and meaning. It is right at your feet!
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