The garden was a place of quiet, and when I went there, all the humming discord in my mind simply fell away.
No rumbling traffic along the road or honking car horns, just birdsongs and the whisper of wind through branches.
When I sat among the flowers, reaching my fingertips to caress their leaves, I could feel the pull of their beauty, tugging me into their forgotten mysteries.
The petals of the larger flowers folded in on themselves, curling around one another like soft, silk ribbons tied in a girls hair - peonies and dahlias, wrapping their golden nectar in soft folds like a mother wrapping her arms around her child.
Other smaller plants, clear and wide-eyed in the morning sun, reached their budding heads to the sky, letting the light fill them with warmth.
And I nestled beside them in the cool shade of sweeping trees, awed by the gentle power of these magnificent life forms.
“Petals just grow,”
I thought in wonderment.
“No matter what else happens, petals just grow, slowly and steadily unfolding, each moment of opening more radiant than the one before.”
I marveled at the delicate balance required of these plants to keep reaching for their next awakening.
Soft, yet strong in their will to grow, they somehow found a way to keep forever reaching through the tiniest cracks, never giving up, even the the face of great obstacles.
Like tree roots, pushing up through great slabs of cement, a flower will always find its way through the smallest path, guided only by the faint glimmer of light beyond.
“I’d like to be like that,”
I thought to myself,
“a flower, forever opening to its next layer of beauty.”
