It's How a Garden Grows Thing

Dear America,

so this morning, an old Persian Proverb happened to hang over the edge of my tea cup, and it said:

"He who wants a rose must respect the thorn."

and it made me giggle.

Whether we are venturing to gain the highest office of the land, or perhaps gain anything of any real value -- part and parcel of the process is intimately rooted in the integrity of our actions, the painstaking patience required to cultivate growth, guard against a slew of nefarious forces, all in order to ultimately prevail and pluck the award-winning rose.  But just maybe, more than anything else, as we metaphorically mosey picking posies all the live long day --  we must be mindful of the relationships we keep....friend or foe.

But oh, to collect a few roses along the way, what splendor!  The fragrance of satisfaction can fill a room.   Something good has come along....and it was so worth it.

And along that same vein -- given the width and breadth of human experience and environment -- to bloom wherever planted becomes an internal struggle of Darwinian proportion, as every virtue and vice is illumined, a possible rise or fall is eminent at every rising sun,  and from bud to blossom we fight for our life, calling for great courage and strength, as well as a great deal of guidance from above and below. 

The thing is, as this girl struggles to even listen to the ridiculous presidential primary potshots back and forth, observes protesters blocking the streets to free speech, and finds her heart simply breaking over children dropping f-bombs against a candidate, Trump, and yelling during a Cruz stop, "you suck" -- the outlook of America's future is disconcerting, dismal even, if this is the stuff  we are made of right now.

Does everything have come at the level of tabloid fodder nowadays --  or can we just stop, and ponder perhaps, just how all this looks to any old passerby, whether they come from the left or the right.

The garden needs a little help.

it's a sad day, really.

and it makes me cry.

America is in weeping, along with the willows and the birds and the bees, from the roses in the west to the lily of the valley in the east.

But let's not end on that note....yin meet yang...

My girl is coming home today -- officially, now a junior in college (yippy skippy!); and unofficially -- someone brand new.  It won't be long, and she will bounce through the door having grown into herself just a wee bit more.  [And it's kinda funny...as it feels like I almost have nothing to do with it anymore...tee hee.  Key word: almost]

All I want to do is plant her somewhere for a spell, and breathe her; all I want to do is look at her, admire her natural peacefulness that becomes her, and wait.  Eventually, the stories will come, the quiet will be replaced with tales of everything under the sun.  And both her garden and mine will find the rapture of blooming, together.

Make it a Good Day, G