My 73rd birthday was the best so far. If my birthdays keep getting better, I just may live forever. Friends dropped by on the Fourth – we spit a lot of cherry pits (an orchard is in the making) and then we raided the refrigerator for an impromptu dinner. What’s not to like? I didn’t cook, and I was spending time with my nearest and dearest.
Any day that begins in the garden is a good day. Fourth of July, the morning was fresh and damp with dew; traffic was non-existent; and only birdsong sounded. The doves were hard at-it… as constant as a clock…never pausing to take a breath. In the distance, a rooster had his say. I walked about the garden and saw that the native grass is taking over.
I’m OK with weeds: didn’t I say that I’m older but wiser? Not that I welcome weeds, but as long as I can strike some balance between the authorized flowers and the weeds, all is well. I guess the key word, in terms of achieving wisdom is ‘balance.’ And accommodation. And an acceptance of the imperfect.
I love the Prickly Poppy – an invasive species that reportedly came to America illegally amongst potatoes. The juxtaposition of the poppy-like flowers with the prickly body warms my heart – a reminder that by nature we are all soft and sharp.
And even if we are only half of what we could be, there is beauty in the imperfect and the damaged. If we take a closer look, the flaws may be more beautiful than we think.