Or Any Flowers Really …

My son is five years old, and for all those years he’s been incredibly observant. Too observant for Mama at times, because plowing through life allows for little deviation.

I remember fondly one time when we were cruising through the neighborhood. He halted suddenly and jumped off his trike. I thought, “What the heck is going on?” He said, “Mom, come quick. Look at this flower.” It happened to truly be a deep pink rose.

So, for a while now, I have a mini person literally forcing me to stop and check out all the flowers. It feels silly that I don’t notice them myself. I slow down and take a breath and accept this detour. Or really, stillness in the moment.

I can’t be annoyed. I have to let go of The Schedule. I laugh at my own hurry and planning. I think about how adults become desensitized to the planet’s magic. We are too responsible and pursuant to check out the scene. Charm and beauty are lacking all around — if you don’t see them.

Lately, he’s been noticing and been entranced by flowers that pop up in strange places. “Look, Mom, this flower is growing in the road!” I now get a chance to talk to him about how powerful nature is, how it can persevere against odds. And a tiny purple bloom escapes the asphalt.