Gerry and I took a drive up into the grasslands yesterday, stopping now and then to take photos.
Each time I stepped out of our vehicle I was struck by the silence, the sweet spring smells, the warmth of the sun on my shoulders, and an overwhelming calm fell upon me.
Nature does that if we let it.
Dusty roads beckoned us to travel them, old derelict houses whispered mysteries of a bygone era, sleepy doe-eyed free-range cattle glanced our way as we passed. Our imaginations were ignited.
Birdsong, from birds whose name I don’t know filled the air. Flowers whose name I don’t know adorned the fields as far as the eye could see.
Somewhere along the line, the value of these wild flowers–weeds, some might say–has been diminished in our eyes. We covet orchids and exotic roses and birds of paradise for the vases that fill our homes and office buildings. We forget that there is a simple and timeless beauty just outside of our back door if we head to the quiet of the country.
These wild flowers often grow in harsh habitats, they have adapted themselves so that they flourish in the midst of conditions that would make short work of those more exotic blooms. They are strong; they are hardy; and yes, they are beautiful too.
Next time you see a wildflower–a weed, if you prefer–stop and take notice of its simple beauty. Consider its ability to persevere and to bloom right where it is planted. Year after year.
There’s a lesson there.