Me, the one who hates pink. Happily enjoying the hydrangea bush outside our back door, bursting with hot pink blooms wherever you can see. The same one last summer with a tiny, pale, hidden flower. Only one. And now it has come to full life all on its own. Mound upon mound of delicate petals. The sky gave it rain, the sun warmth. And it grew. The beauty of perennials…coming back each year. Someone before us, who called this same place home, took the time to pat what must have been a tiny bush faithfully into the dirt. And it grew. If they could see it now, surely they would smile. Oh, how gardens grow + change with the seasons, with each passing year. You run your fingers through that dirt, arrange + compose the pretty flowers and green life, leaving your spot of earth a little better than it was. For another, years, even decades from now to stop and be filled with joy at the hope you have planted.
Sometimes the smallest miracles are really the best.