The wildflowers have been in full bloom here {where of course, grass is growing...}. And, need I mention that the weather is now comprised of those glorious conditions I oh-so-love. The conditions that make up: the in-between stage. You know what I'm talking about.
It's the perfect combination of warm and cool. Crisp. Alive. Refreshing. Wonderful. It's the kind of day where you wake up, desperately want to wrap yourself up in your blankets {prior to and post exiting your bed} and go about your business. "Let's just call these blankets my ensemble for the day," you think to yourself. Because, well, goodness knows that it's a little too cold to think of getting OUT of those blankets you hold so dear. But, eventually, logic wins, and you scurry about your room-- frantically looking for something warm to take the place of those beloved blankets.
And, on that same day, you find yourself basking in the high sun and letting the warmth of its presence hit you-- forgetting all about the fight that you had earlier with the chill, morning air. Because for now you are completely captivated by the sun's being. And you are soaking. it. up. Yes, you, my friend, are lost in the heat of the sun and all the light it brings.
This is the weather I love.
During this particular kind of weather, one can typically find me outside {and, when in the States, amidst trees, river, or lake} enthralled by nature's beauty.
Here, though, when I remind myself that it's okay to walk outside in the daylight hours, I stroll the streets.
Perhaps I may be going to the same location multiple times in a week, but I try to take in different things that make up my course. One day, it may be the little boy on the side of the street, selling boiled corn on the cob. The other, I'm looking at the buildings, wondering what stories they would like to tell me {if, of course, walls could talk}. Or perhaps, the wildflowers take my full attention as they make their way in between the cement and debris, joyfully clumped together in sing-song groups.
Ahhh... wildflowers.
Strange that many try to rid them from their gardens, when... really, they just want to shout to the world: "Hey! I'm here now!! Look, I'm ready to be noticed! Am I not beautiful?!" Because, to me, these wildflowers are something to take in ....the way you take in a tall glass of sweet lemonade on a hot, summer's day.
Fully.
I guess, though, I'm a tad bit biased because intertwined with this thought, is the deeper, hidden meaning that I cherish.
You see, when I was a young girl, I went to my grandmother's house every day {before I began attending school, mind you} and spent many hours with her. We would go on trips to the grocery store, go downtown to walk through antique shops, or just spend a day at home. Spending time with her was something special, something I valued. I loved everything that we did, and in my five year old frame of a body, I felt that the strongest way to show her that I appreciated her and what she did for us {my sister and myself}... was to show her. Hugs, kisses, eh... I could do that, sure. But that wasn't something special. That wasn't something out of the ordinary. I needed something that she could
see. I needed for her to know that I
thought of her.
As quickly as the thought came to me, I sprang out the door! Minutes later, I re-emerged after carefully picking up handfuls of the tiny, purple wildflowers that had found their way into my grandmother's backyard. Yes. This was the gift I needed to reveal my true feelings. They were small, sure, but they were beautiful. They brought a smile to my face, and I hoped, would bring one to hers as well.
When I revealed my unexpected gifts, she was delighted and instantly put them in a small, glass jar which she perched at eye level. There, in all its glory, was the small, bundle of joy that Grandmother admired the whole day while it sat on her windowsill. And, for many days following, this routine continued. Never did she once tell me that she could have gotten those flowers if she wanted them. And, never did she once tell me that they were not special.
She cherished them and thanked me many times for my sweet and thoughtful gift.
Now you understand... why I may be a bit biased towards wildflowers. They carry with them a message of value, of worth. But it is not their own of which I am speaking. They bring me back many years ago, when I was shown {yet again} affirmation from my Grandmother. No, not because of the amount spent on her surpassed her expectations, but because she saw the sincerity of the gift. And accepted it.
Flash-forward a few years: You will now equally understand why I was more than thrilled to see, sitting on top of my desk as I gathered my things together this morning to teach, a small pile of wildflowers from one of my students.
It seems my gift of wildflowers has now come full circle, but their message and their importance... remain.
What great, unexpected gifts.
