In Bloom

As I watch the blisters on my hands heal, the hours of gardening prominent in the folds of my palms and hinges of my fingers, I know that everything will be okay; we are made in the likeness of the ultimate creator and therefore we are miraculous beings. Miraculous as the surroundings that were created for us and in spite of us.

I walk out to the petunias in bloom, at my front porch, waving goodbye as I leave to work only to arrive at the end of shift to observe all the blossoms sprinkled upon the ground. Each budding purple flower alive with freedom lies helpless and abandoned no longer a part of its own body.  This is the same image I capture each and every day.

Sometimes there are three and sometimes there are more and yet, the petunia blossoms each morning knowing full well that by the end of the day her blossoms will be found lying around her.  Whether escaped or released, it is not known.  Tiny buddings of life form around her as she gives way to new life and new plants.  This remains unseen until I begin to move closer to her.

There, in the dirt surrounding her stalk, are tiny buddings of new life made possible only because she has lost her blooms; therefore, she must arise each morning and bloom just as the day before.  It is her job and it is a beautiful one for it gives way to new life.

I admire the petunia so easily dismissed for not retaining its blossoms, powerfully arising each morning to accomplish the work set out for her since her creation without fail and without exception.