Do you ever stumble upon something you don’t expect?
Growing in a place you find strange?
From time to time, I do.
A single viola blooming between asphalt and curb.
A lone hosta in a bed of hydrangeas.
Hairy crabweed poking through sewer grates.
Broad-leaved helleborine smack in the middle of a lawn.
A cabbage stalk in a pot of basil.
Toadstools, all shapes, colors, popping up on hillsides, in gardens.
All little reminders of strength, resiliency.
Finding a place in a big world.
To settle, dream.
What would happen if vegetation could grow anywhere?
Mowing, manicuring, banished?
Like in the field in front of Morris Arboretum.
Where Rubus blackberries, comfrey, irises grow wild.
Tall, confident, unabashed.
Drawing all manner of birds, insects.
Spectators, oglers like me.
Stopping to stare, give praise.
Unsheared meadow, majesty.
Lynn Benjamin
May 21, 2024
