I don’t know of any flower that looks quite as inherently jubilant as a sunflower. They’re full of vivacious colors—streaks of yellow, red, and fiery-orange are splashed across their petals. They seem so saturated with life and vigor. These brilliant buds of sunlight remind me of Anne Shirley’s query as to whether or not amethysts could be the souls of good violets. I say, why not? Emerson himself stated that, “the Earth laughs in flowers.”
Despite my inborn love of robust snowflakes brushing their icy hue across the sky, the pail hush of winter cannot always keep me from longing for the sun kissed face of a spry sunflower or the delicate, maidenly glow of a daisy. There is so much joy to be found in gazing upon a flower. How is it that a plant can seem so content in its surroundings when we, who have all of the creature comforts, cannot? Quite a puzzle, to say the least. Perhaps we could all learn a lesson from these flowers, trite as it may sound: grow where you are planted—that’s the usual phrase, isn’t it? I’d like to add a bit more to it, though: grow content where you are planted, but never forget where you are reaching—that is, for the sky. I’m afraid that I’m growing too sentimental, so I leave you only with the words of Wordsworth:
“Tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes!”
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