DREAMSICLE SPLENDOR
The sight of the orange, star-shaped blossom
startled me as I
stepped off the front porch.
Gingerly lifting it from the ground by its
trampled, brown,
lifeless stem, I cupped the determined flower in my hands and sank
down
onto the concrete walkway.
I had been right afterall.
Just weeks before, I had been excited to see
the new green shoots
poking through our rich, black, Hoosier soil. Not able to remember
what
had been planted in that particular clay pot, I watched with child-like
wonder and anticipation to see what had survived the long, cold winter.
Each day, I carefully tended the deep green
stalks, making sure
they had just the right amount of water, just the right amount of sun,
and just the right amount of attention. The plants responded
in kind by
growing and flourishing. The stems stretched taller with luscious
leaves unfurling along each inch of progress. Eagerly I waited
for the
blossoms that would finally remind me of the plants' heritage.
Days turned into weeks and still no blooms.
The stalks were
getting stronger and it appeared that they only planned to deliver
leaves and more leaves. My excitement waned.
"They must be weeds," I declared.
Disappointed, I decided to give them a few
more days and possibly
even invite a knowledgeable friend over to verify my presumption.
When
the time was "up", I had not consulted my friend nor had the plants
produced the buds I was demanding of them. My attitude toward
my
cherished plants took a sharp turn as I yanked the stems out by the
roots and carelessly tossed them to the ground. Busy with other
things
at the moment, I promised myself to pick up the now-dying stems later
in
the day. Later never came and I soon forgot about the abandoned
plants.
After a couple of days, I assumed the rotating
blades of the lawn
mower had finished the job and I need not bother to search for the
chopped up remains. It was all a forgotten memory until that
slight
glance to the right, as I walked out of the house.
While slumped down on the pavement, caressing
the tender blossom,
tears filled my eyes. I was ashamed of myself for being so quick
to
discard the plant when it didn't perform to my expectations.
It was sad
to admit that I saw true beauty in its barren, emerald stem when I
still
believed it was a flower, but that I wanted no part of it when I deemed
it a common weed. I was embarrassed that I had not called my
friend,
and it cost the flower a chance at full life, and those around it the
chance to partake of its splendor.
I had done all I could to ruin the little
plant and rid it from my
life, yet it held on. It survived, producing delicate,
Dreamsicle-colored buds despite my relentless assaults and neglect.
It
lived on long enough to help me realize my mistake and share the beauty
it held within. It held on long enough to teach me important
lessons
about acceptance, perseverance, patience and courage.
It was the most beautiful flower I think I
have ever seen.
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