Every flower has a time to display its beauty at center stage - to be the sole performer in the woodland symphony. It may be for a few hours, an entire day or a long week but it is without doubt, its most vibrant time of being alive. As a child I knew about these times - how nature decided when things bloom in their ultimate glory. There was a time for wild iris in the ponds, wild strawberries in the woods, tiger lilies in the ditches along side roads, wild violets to be picked, oh - and columbines and dandelions too. To me these wild flowers were just as pretty in a small vase as an elegant rose. All of the flower surprises in the ponds and woods were small gifts, each one.
We often forget to consider a small flower from nature, one we did not plant, is even more beautiful and brilliant than one we plant meticulously in its perfect spot in our garden. Consider the perfection that must take place in mother natures garden each season. There is a reason why violets grow in certain places, for it to grow everything must be in order. The soil a certain way, the dappling sunlight just right, the seed open. It is a miracle when it all comes together so perfectly in a place we did not cultivate. That is the most significant thing about flowers in the wild, the natural order of time and place which must happen without our doing a thing. There is a small miracle in a wild flower we must be willing to see.
From FLOWER FARMER, a collection of short flower stories emanating from the bud.