Sunday, April 26, 2020


The concrete hugged her stems and I wondered at her ability to grow in spite of a significant lack.  She did not have a lot of dirt into which to stretch her long roots, nor did she have the shelter of the sun on her petals.

Betweeen a crack in our sidewalk, against all odds, stands a flower.  Two actually.  They keep growing and flourishing and I don't know why she doesn't die.  

She is a hardy plant.  Alive.  Brave.  Different from all the others in the way she began life.

So it is with so many women, their beginnings looking bleak, their nourishment shallow and ragged.  But the sun shines in some of the darkest of places and roots can grow in the most unlikely depths.


Post a Comment