It is hard for a flower to grow from the crack in the sidewalk…
harder to continue to survive alone,
trampled by foot after foot
bombarded by the unrelenting reflected heat from the concrete.
It might even think itself an aberration
question its own purpose of creation,
it is surrounded by such an alien world compared to itself.
But what if that flower is dug up by gentle hands that understand the fragility of roots.
And what if those same hands know how to identify a proper place to replant said flower.
A place with other flowers,
amidst the composted soil of the earth,
the dappled sunlight which reaches through the protective canopy of the trees,
the dew drops of the pre-dawn forest,
the company of numerous abstract and unusual insect bodies
that will dance upon its petals and present it continuously with the pollinating nectar of unifying existence.
What if we removed all of the concrete?
What if we removed all of those feet which trod without sight,
without a glimpse?
Oh the blind concrete trodders,
they only see weeds.
But it isn’t a weed.
It is a beautiful flower that just ended up where it should have never been.