taking solace in a sunflower's story
bent, but not deterred.
This sunflower has had quite a year. First it was smashed into the ground by sticky, willful toddler hands that insisted it grow in the middle of the path. Then, the obvious troubles of trying to grow with a daily torrent of feet. Despite that, it persisted, and got to be just big enough to be noticed and walked around. Then, a dog’s happy tail came through and thwacked it over, nearly snapping it’s spindly stem. Still, even with the biggest fallback, one i thought for sure would be the end of this little struggling plant, it bloomed. Swiveling it’s head up to the sky was no small matter, no doubt, but here it is, the most battered and beautiful serpentine sunflower of the garden, going to seed.
All this is not to imply that we humans - who have been facing torrent after torrent as well- have the capacity for this kind of resiliency. I’m certainly not sure I do. But most of us are surrounded by plants just like this, who model this kind of graceful tenacity: the dandelion on the corner, the thistle taking over the field despite the mower, the redwood with embers burning it’s center. By tracking the lives of our plant neighbors, their stories offer us a kind of compass to turn to when we are all but lost. Their unspoken knowledge is something only an older sibling could impart to it’s younger. I think plants offer us a wisdom our own language cannot touch, a kind of musical tuning that can only be heard by an empty heart.
The other night i spontaneously laid down next to the sunflower, belly stretched out on the path, and began breathing deeper despite the thick layer of smoke still hanging a foot above me. Sunflower said “nose to the ground”. I said “thanks, this helps.”