The Resiliency of Flowers

A poem about how my backyard wildflowers represent grief, hope, and redemption.

“Oh Great Spirit Crack me open at the core Let me feel it all, hear me roar As I open myself to the Divine.” Bonnie Medicine, “Crack Me Open”

I am slowly beginning to recognize the miracles — everywhere.

Butterflies, the wind, sunsets, ocean waves, the moon, Me, connections…

One of my favorite everyday miracles are flowers.

In fact, as I write this, I sit beside sporadically growing shrubs of fuchsia wildflowers conveniently located in my relaxing backyard.

I estimate these flowers extend around 80 feet, and shine out so many petals that the rose hues outwit the stems of green.

It still shocks me that when I first came to this house, two springs ago, two resilient sons holding my clammy hands, I hadn’t witnessed these reassuring flowers.

I was so entrenched in grief that I didn’t even notice a glowing, miraculous 80-foot-long forest of sunset-shaded blossoms echoing around my new home.

That’s why every time I go outside now, I intentionally admire the serene blooms.

And, recently, when I looked up and saw the sea of reborn petals proudly protruding through my metal gate, I ran inside to retrieve scissors and cut a bouquet.

I wanted to be surrounded by them, always, and their existence to remind me of how far I had come.

Yet, for some reason, I placed each flower’s stem in a pot of random soil I already possessed from an old plant.

No wonder the once powerful blooms were barely clinging to life only a few days later.

Crisp, pink petals scattered in a mandala-type pattern onto my wooden dresser.

Fearing the cluster couldn’t be redeemed, I almost sadly snagged and threw the dying plant away, but because I had started viewing more light than dark, I thought, “What the heck, why not just put them in some water and see what happens?”

So, I did.

I forewent the vase and gently placed the fragile stalks into a pale blue plastic cup of fresh water.

Then, I went on with life.

It wasn’t until a few days later that I noticed the magnified blossoms —

Not just revived, but FULLY alive — their fuchsia hue transformed into a beautiful, pink haze.

“What a silver lining,” I thought, “that these resilient wildflowers’ suffered then rose because they fought for survival and healed, causing them to resurrect MORE gloriously than they were before.”

It was then that I continued to ponder the resiliency of flowers; my dot-to-dot-brain, proudly resembling constellations orbiting universes, connecting a string of cause/effect relationships that these simple blooms represent.

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