Each of us is a flower, with a delicate beauty uniquely our own. We may be like sunflowers, turning always towards the light.
May our lives bloom like the flowers.
We may be like night-blooming cereus, only displaying our fragrant petals when it is dark and we think no one can see.
We may be hothouse flowers, far from our native lands, cautiously tended within a harsh and unfamiliar climate.
We may be gray-headed like dandelions, eager to launch the new generation with the first strong gust of wind: past our own bright youth, but ready to pass our wisdom on in precious gossamer-carried seeds.
Some of us, sometimes, spring up overnight and fade in the hot glare.
Some of us, sometimes, are roses, slowly assembling petal after tightly-wrapped petal, and revealing our full glory only when everything is in place.
Sometimes we are roadside weeds, loveliness bursting improbably from the dust and debris.
May we offer our beauty with the simplicity of flowers, expecting no recognition, hoping for nothing, giving out of what we are, and knowing it is enough.
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Last updated on Wednesday, November 6, 2013.
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