The Nature of a Weed

Good afternoon from… by the brook♡
The soft glow of morning has given way to the rhythmical song of cicadas. The air is moist and a bit oppressive; it lays heavy on my eyelids forcing them to slowly close, tricking my body into a state of rest. The midsummer sun has stripped the grass of its deep vibrancy, leaving behind brittle blades that scratch the souls of my feet. The brook’s bed is yet more exposed than the last time I wrote to you and the duck’s rather enjoy the multitude of perches now available to them. Fifteen regulars have become rather ravenous, wanting more than their fair share of feed. Just this morning I finally got an up-close glimpse of Mama Deer and her fawn♡ It was 6am; the sun had barely crested the horizon as I was serving my sweet ducks their first meal of the day. I heard a splash; thinking it was just their skittish silliness. My eyes still not yet fully focused, I hadn’t noticed the presence of Mama and baby. When our eyes met she stood still, assessing my intention, then slowly turned and walked without worry through the stone filled water with baby tightly behind.
I then sat back amongst the patio pillows to take in the newness of the day, my eyes focused on the lone dandelion growing through the brittle blades. How does something so small have such resilience, so simple have such brilliance? It’s desire to push through all that doesn’t nourish it and stand tall in its beautiful, bright color. Some may see it as it’s labeled, a weed. I see its strength and resilient nature to thrive and be just as it is. An imperfectly, beautiful expression of Self♡