Have you ever taken a walk in nature, not the calm and tranquil manicured gardens but out there in the unkempt and untamed wilderness Not much grows there except for dry bushel and anorexic trees, thorns and dusty pathways and you curiously wonder how life survives there.
I am the type of person who enjoys picking up things as I go along whether it is a rotting stick or an interesting shaped stone. There is not much to look at with the monotonous shades of browns, oranges and reds but it still so beautiful, often against the stark blue of the African sky.
Every so often though, I find a single wildflower growing among the bush- completely out of order with the environment. It sways in the wind, solitary yet unyielding against the elements- it is a survivor. I often wonder: how did this flower come to be? was it a single seed that had been carried by the wind and grew here or did it once have a family which had all died away?
I was described as this the other day, and for a girl who hates flowers, it was an oddly fitting description. He said to me that the beauty of a single wildflower is that there in innate urge to pick it and treasure your findings- however it will inevitably wilt and die like the many bouquets given to thousands of girls across the country When you return to the same place you saw that flower you removed from the wild, you find that another one has not grown in its place and you have lost. Its a catch 22-22 in wanting something so much but knowing that it is better to leave them be to grow and flourish.
I think I am at a stage in my life where I feel I have been picked and had my stem broken too many times. I want the next person who picks me up to treasure me, even if I don’t last, even though it is scary but hey, I am a survivor.