It’s about halfway through my walk home and a small smile appears on my face. The blue specks on the side of the road caught my eye. They weren’t ostentatious or magnificent in their appearance, but they grabbed my attention.

 As I step onto the grassy section I see more and more. Together they combine into a dwarf’s super bloom. They’ve captivated me and now I’ve been thinking about them for too long. 

I watch my step so I do not trample their beauty. My hand floats down and gently grasps the stem.

 And with its power, it played a movie in my mind. 

My younger self could be seen running out the front door and down the stairs. Onto the front yard. The refreshing softness of the outdoors blesses my eyes. Droplets of paint, of all different colors, had fallen from God’s palette, onto the green scene. The sweet scent of spring air filled my tiny lungs and the delicate breeze flew through my delicate hair. I would excitedly pick up the small flowers that fit better in my little hands, and gather them with daisies, buttercups, and dandelions. If I was feeling extra patient, a stem from one of them would be tied around to make a bouquet. Then I would march back up the stairs and carry them to the kitchen door, where inside my mother could be either washing dishes or cooking. I can now envision in my mind presenting them to her and be gratified with a smile and the act of her placing them in a small, shot-glass-like vase. I took pride in seeing them as the centerpiece of my dinner table that night. 

Now I’m lucky if I even bring home a flower at all. My calloused hands, after grabbing one, would subconsciously snap it in half, or pick off the petals one by one. Or if it’s a bloom so small then I might just twist it around between my fingers so that after a few seconds, the tips of them would be covered in the mash of what it once was. It would be wiped onto my pants, and forgotten about.

 Each year drains the purity out of my hands. Slowly. So that I don’t notice until I look way back behind at the past. But again, each year new goodness is rained down onto the earth. 

Providing rich love and care. It gives birth to new soft lambs, new grass, and new flowers. Repeated again and again.

Sometimes that shower of bliss drips onto my head; it brings that same sense of comfort and freeness.

 And if I ever feel the soft cool air, or smell the calming breeze, then maybe I’ll take the small flower all the way back to my kitchen door.