enduring, and the language of flowers



I love these flowers, but I don’t. They are beautiful, and lush, but they decay rapidly. Their heads bloom so top heavy that their stems tremble and snap within days after budding fully. So the unsteady, florid peony is not my favorite flower. It can’t last. It’s like the long-legged irises I see dashed to the ground, their heads crushed in the grass. If you’re lovely, but you can’t withstand your own weight, what’s the point? Oh, more and more I  admire the squat, sturdy, determined little dandelions that plant themselves wherever they feel like and don’t have a care if anyone even thinks they’re a flower. Perseverance is worth so much more than flash, in the long run.

I’m writing that for me. Like most of the things I write, this is a pep talk written on a chalkboard I’ll get up tomorrow and look at, in case I’ve forgotten. Remember this, Sharon, that the race is not always to the swift but sometimes to the strong — or whatever other platitude comes to mind, that serves to suit my purpose. Sometimes you have to get along, make do, make it do or do without, but you keep going — you always keep going. Now that’s the bottom line that doesn’t change, does it. No. I endure.


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