Each flower defies the odds and pushes on.
We want to make the world our own, but there is no survival without constant adaptation. A rudimentary concept, yes, but we get all crafty about it, bury our heads in the sand, pretend we can send down roots and stay in one place forever. But the earth we stand on keeps revolving, and the sky we reach for is filled with light that is already older than we are, no matter how long we may live. Sunlight takes approximately eight minutes to reach the earth. The light from some of the stars we see is 400 hundred years old.
So if, for some reason, the sun ever goes out, we wouldn’t even know for eight whole minutes. A short grace period, yes, but I kind of like the magic in that.
Time may be full of tricks, but light remains steady.
Which makes it so much easier to stand alone in the dark, making wishes on stars that have already lived through more lifetimes than I can imagine. Silent witnesses to a multitude of births and deaths, joy and anguish, storm and smooth calm sea.
If you think that a flower is fragile, imagine what it takes to push up through dark soil more than 10 times your height, and reach for a sun that will always, just barely, outrun you.
Miracles and magic happen around us, all day, every day. No one ever said it would be easy. No on ever said we wouldn’t have to fight to stand in the light. No one ever said that anything lasts forever.
Each moment is precious.
And we forget that eighty thousand times a day.
So take one second and look at a flower. Or a baby just learning to walk. Or the old woman dragging her cart through the grocery store. Or even the young man, in such a hurry to get where he’s going, that forgets to hold the door for her.
I’m glad to find hope is so stubborn.