Late blooms
of wildflowers
creep up
toward the edges
of the
highway exit ramp.
Delicate
purples and yellows
on green long
stems, reaching up
in tiny winks
of nature colliding
with the
asphalt shoulder of
the roadway.
I’m sitting
in my car, waiting my turn
to turn onto
the main thoroughfare,
exasperated
with the traffic,
the
slow-pokes and tailgaters,
the Sunday
driver’s out on a Tuesday
morning. I’m
irritated and out of
patience. My
lips are tightly pressed
together in
thin aggravation.
The flowers
catch my eye as they
rustle in
the car exhaust breezes,
their
vibrancy enhanced by the
rising sun,
the purple and yellow
florae, in
the border lands between the
harshness of
another work day and
the heartiness
of nature.
Growing in
spite of the curses around them.
The flowers
delicate beauty, swaying
with steadfast
resistance against the
brutal world
around them. They just grow.
Never
knowing or caring about the hard
and rocky
ground they took root.
Never
acknowledging the rush of cars
constantly zooming
or idling next to them.
They just do
what they do and are beautiful for it.
I wonder how
many other motorists have
noticed
these small flowers blooming so wild,
how many
other motorists have wondered about
the simple magnificence
of these roadside jewels
unintentionally
putting life into perspective.
These
wildflowers, putting up with all the rough edges
of the world
to bloom and teach me, us, something
about resilience.
The traffic light changes. I smile.
