What is it about flowers that draws us towards those prizes? Is it the certainty of their inspiring beauty that encourages us to want to be within their sight or to be able to hold them as our own? Or is it that they remind us to believe that a thing called hope is everlasting despite the chances of storms that stay for far longer than they should and the vivid dragons that tell us that we are indeed impossible? Or perhaps it’s that they intrigue us by finding ways to harmoniously intertwine within some terrains but then fail to thrive in other locations that could also benefit from their survival. Or just maybe the reason why we are so taken by colorful trophies is because the process of their weediness and withering is effortlessly ignored while the same kinds of notes are overly represented in the beats of ourselves and at times in what we perceive of others. It is easy for the voice of grace to shout for the things that will unquestionably transform into something that we yearn for and difficult for it to grow above a murmur in the midst of the weeds that latch on. It’s as if we have forgotten how essential the rain as well as the accumulation of debris is in nourishing every bloom but then appreciating the steps and the time that it takes for buds to develop isn’t something we have a lot of courtesy for. About a flower ago, my pulsations reminded me to take notice of the marks on my plots in order to get a glimpse of the value of what has been and how slowly, all of it has fertilized the new beginnings that have taken root in replace of them. Around one, two, three or many shadows before, your movements began to beat in tune with the types of tempos that silenced your words, stole your voice, altered your hues and closed the door to the place in your heart where you keep your dreams. You then began collecting your misfiring moments and surrounded them with the undesirable emotions whose rhythms accepted the roaring that said you were incapable. For every one of those sensitive heartaches, though, there were seeds of trying planted and while their sprouts are waiting for those fields to become welcoming, in this present moment they are standing by as the paused flowers that are hoping to bloom just for you. Remember, a smile isn’t only a grin, anger is merely one emotion that makes us see red and beauty has never cared if the sun is shining so keep moving your perception until your view discovers that both dragons and weeds lose their magic when fondness for yourself encircles them. Take this one word, one color and one beat at a time as your story goes.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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