She had purchased a pack of miscellaneous seeds for a dollar.
Suddenly, overnight seemingly, a Jack-and-the-Beanstalk sequel, three sunflowers – as they would turn out to be although mystifying they were initially – burst on the scene, one, even before it blossomed, reaching a whopping 76 inches, above the window.
Though five-times shorter than the tallest ever grown, the fact that it takes standing on a bucket to be face-to-face with this one is still pretty impressive.
Not to be outdone by big brother, the shortest of the three – and there were only three – decided to rival the sunrise – aptly named after the sun – by being first to greet the morning, tossing as it were with every outstretched petal – as my granddaughter does with her kisses – all manner of happy-to-meet-you greetings to passers-by.
She – the sunflower – is a showoff.
Then I heard it.
A squeaky little voice saying ‘Hey! It’s me! Down here!’
‘Down where?’
‘Here! Down here! By your feet! You almost stepped on me!’
‘Oh, there you are. Sorry Little Daisy, I didn’t see you.’
Just as pretty, far more delicate, and fragile, the daisy struggled to be noticed among the more vibrant plants.
People are that way.
In the cacophony of chaos that has become our cancel culture, there are voices not being heard.
It’s the fairytale story of the wart-covered ugly toad – who was really a handsome prince – all over again.
But who would stop – and stoop – to listen to an ugly toad much less, with a kiss, set him free?
Everyone, a friend of mine said, has a heart, a life, and a story.
Ditto the daisy.
If only we’ll notice. And stop. And listen.
