One Flower
At the base of the big crape myrtle is a flower bed that once was full. That was when the tree was tiny. There was turks caps, salvia greggi, and rock roses. They were abundant. Then the tree grew large. The turks cap was the first to go. Moved beneath the big oaks. The rock roses and salvia diminished, lack of sun, lack of water. Now the little bed is mostly full of tree roots.
The rose and the salvia hung on, however, tiny plants living in their space. They rise and fall with the rains, and this spring they came, in moderate abundance. The rock rose is blooming. I’d like for it to be full as it is beneath the big oaks. But I’ll take the one flower. Because one flower is almost always better than no flower, especially when it’s pink, and tiny, and stands tall, and you see it.
It feels as though the flower is there just for me, waiting to be seen, wanting to be seen. Of course, I miss the next best part of seeing which is the showing, to someone you love or like. And when my wife was alive, I would call her outside and together we would marvel. Nowadays, it’s just me. Looking. Seeing. Healing. One morning, one evening, one season, one flower at a time.