Another storm passed through the previous night, but the morning’s clear sky was a nod of approval to keep my friend’s coffee date.
I made my way up the side streets passing by snowy Victorian houses and whimsical mailboxes.
Halfway to the coffee shop, I spotted a dead hydrangea draped in snow on someone’s front lawn.
Seeing this stopped me in my tracks.
I couldn’t get over how beautiful this looked. Almost like a snowball lollipop.
There was a curved blanket of snow draped, almost protectively, over the dried up tiny petals that were well beyond saving. A poetic death.
Or, was I witnessing only a glimpse of what this flower goes through, including the ability to weather a storm?
“But how?”, I asked myself. “It was so windy last night. How did the petals not fly off? How did the stem not break and fall, and bury itself under the snowfall? How is it still standing there?”.
I eventually understood what fascinated me about this scene.
This flower was at peace.
She accepted the external environment twirling around her, because she knew who she was.
She knew she was built for this.
She knew the time would come for her to endure the frigid winds and snow.
Nothing was happening to her. Life was just carrying on through all its seasons, and this was her in this season.
And, she knew the time would come for her to blossom again. That is why she is still standing there, isn’t it? Her time isn’t over, and her purpose for standing isn’t only when she is in bright pastels.
We can all bloom, wilt, endure, and revive again.
One state isn’t better than the other. All states are a part of who we are, and what we can brave through.
I forgot this. But she didn’t.
There she stood, perfectly at peace with where she is right now, and ready for who she will become again.
Wishing you a cozy Sunday.