Wildflower anticipation.

The youngest picked a packet at the shop last we went. A mix of wild promises of blossom and burst.

This variety has sprouted in a few spots we sprinkled. Each pair of leaves with a match pair of nibbles. Such consistency that I first thought it a pattern of growth… but it’s instead a habitual snacker.

It’ll be a lovely wait and good surprise to see what these grow into, if they make it to maturity.

Untethered.

I am feeling more untethered, two weeks into this sabbatical, than I quite know what to do with.

I don’t recall wild carrot ever being such a sea – in this spot or any other. How the climate change and other human intervention changes so many things.

There was a beautiful field of Indian Paintbrush nearby each spring. Year after year until three years ago. The farmer didn’t mow at some choice winter moment to allow enough light to permeate the heavy grasses laden over the soil. No flowers. And again the next year. And again.

This year, the farmer didn’t mow that same field, but did mow the one across the way and lo and behold – Indian Paintbrush!

Alas, we didn’t put two and two together in time to continue the “children in wildflowers” tradition this spring with that field. There is still time to add it up on some Blanketflower or Coreopsis though…

Fare thee well.

Let them call you a weed. You are none such as that. They may not see your beauty, your strength, your ingenuity. I do, little purple flower. I see it. I see you. Bloom your heart out how and where you bloom best. Never you mind that gardener.