Flat stone bench

Reality Check Point #2:
What the Flowers Think

            We are tired of all you do not know.  We are sure of ourselves, thrusting from darkness to light, bearing our leaves, making sure our stalks are sturdy, our buds healthy, then the blooming.  And all you can say?  “Look at the pretty red flower,” or “It looks like lace.  Purple lace.”  We have names, common and Latin.  You know our common names when we’re common enough—Blue Bells in Scotland, or Cuckoo’s Head in England.  Someone, somewhere, might know us as Campanular rotundifolia, just as the scientist might know our stamen, pistil, and ovaries, studying us while you are apt to say, “Look at that pretty blue flower that looks like a little bell.”
            You walk in ignorance.  You do not see.  Even the petals of our flowers are each slightly different.  You know that about snowflakes, you look at them under glass.  Yet we are so big, so obvious in our uniqueness, and still you do not observe.
            And you take credit for us.  “I planted a little border of phlox,” you brag.  Phlox, yes!  But which of our 400 species of  phlox:  herbs, shrubs, small trees, or vines?  You made one quick turn of the soil, one quick placement in the earth, and you stand back and feel proud of yourself while we work to toughen, then relax, our roots, pushing out small tendrils to meet water and rich soil.  We’re growing every day while you walk by, self-satisfied, even arrogant.  Try for humility.  Admit how little you really know.  Remember, we will arrive in magnificent sprays to decorate your coffins, smaller bouquets to rot on your graves.

"What the Flowers Think" first appeared in Scissors and Spackle






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