The Wildflower’s Final Stanza
“We live by admiration, hope and love; and even as these are well and wisely fixed, in dignity of being we ascend.” ~William Wordsworth
Its flowers spent, its colors gone where summers go, without having made itself memorable in any way that men might reckon, it reached toward the sky to write the final stanza of its poem.
It had no way of knowing that its form would catch my eye and be a subject for my camera’s lens, that I would bring it here for you to contemplate and approve. Approval wasn’t part of its vocabulary.
It wrote the stark grace of its being against the sky only because it had given itself to joy from the very beginning and would do nothing else but sing it to the very end.
It was that song that called me to it, that stopped me in my tracks and took my breath away.
Something like reverence welled up inside me as I stood before it, the damp wind connecting us, and after I gathered its image, I could not help but bow my head before it in salute, my heart reverberating to its beautiful amen.
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I was so touched reading this, it brought tears to my eyes. Many blessings to you dear Susan, Beth