Wildflower seeds can lay dormant in desert soil for years, waiting for water to bring them into existence. I wonder if they mind being buried in the dark for so long without any knowledge of the weather above. Maybe it will rain today, they must think, before turning back to the Earth, unbothered.
I suppose these seeds know something about timing that humans do not. Perhaps they believe they can grow wherever they are planted, choosing to wait out the conditions, until they are ripe for breaking ground. A bud seeking sunlight will find it eventually, even if it takes water forever to arrive.
Spring time is when wild things make themselves known, and in California, the rare phenomenon of a super bloom can be seen from outer space. The psychedelic colors of poppies, primroses, and Lillies, buttercups, cream cups, daisies, and owl’s clover all blanket the hillsides in what can only be described as slowly, then all at once.
It’s hard to tell if I have bloomed in the places I have lived. I know there are things that have made me come alive, but like these plants, have also died after a season. Starting again, I am more wild than flower.
Inspired Scribble 