Tom Petty said it best I think-
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
I want to be a wildflower… or rather I think I am one… some how, some way, a part of my spirit is connected to the spry, unruly tendrils.
Wild flowers, to many, seem ordinary, plain, or down right undesirable. But to few, they are truly beautiful.
When I was little I didn’t understand why no one else wanted thistles, cosmos and chicory, ox-eyed daisies and queen annes lace strewn about their homes. Instead calling these wild blooms ‘weeds’, such a dirty word, ‘weed’. A weed is a dandy lion. No matter how hard I tried to like those tufted trouble makers I couldn’t (though I do enjoy making a wish as I try to blow all the cottony seeds in one go). My brother would often rub their yellow faces all over my arms, staining my skin a jaundice shade, which wasn’t exactly my favorite thing; perhaps this has something to do with my long time hatred of that devious plant.
Wild flowers grow where they want, thriving when left on their own. Blooming in season, fading when the time comes, and reawakening when the earth thaws in the warmth of spring. Slightly disheveled, awkward and unique, they captivate my curiosity.
They take me back to a time more simple, a time where I would spend hours wandering through a field, lost in my imagination, picking a bouquet for my mother as I went.
Now a days being in the city means wild flowers are few and far between. Seeing those blooms will forever remind me of home and the wonder of my youth. One day, I hope to get a tattoo of soft colored blossoms, so that I may carry the memory of getting lost in fields of flowers for years to come.
Until then, I will simply settle for the bundles of blossoms from the little shop up the street.