Tiny hands work diligently in the warm morning sun. Softly, a little voice hums a tune as each daisy is carefully selected and placed in the repurposed soda bottle. The arrangement is a little crowded because the more flowers that are included means a bigger “I Love You”. The little feet march proudly back into the house carrying the gift.
She was awake and watching everything from the bedroom window but when she heard the singing out in hallway she crawled back under the covers and pretended to be asleep. The song was more or less the tune of happy birthday but the lyrics were based on phrase “I Love Mommy”.
As the song ended she was presented with the bundle of daisies which were displayed in the soda bottle on the kitchen table. Before they faded she pressed them between the pages of a book and kept them with the rest of her special memories.
Down through the years there was many gifts. The little feet walked out into a life of their own and the tiny hands developed skills that earned a good living. Mother’s Day gifts included nice jewelry and fancy meals. But always paled in comparison to the empty soda bottle of wildflowers. On the page of her memory book where the pressed daisies had been preserved was the words “Nothing says “I Love You like daisies in the hands of a child”.
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Patiently she sat in the meadow waiting for her turn. She dreamed of the day that her opportunity would come. She made lists and organized. Everything was ready. She only needed a chance. She wrote herself letters and kept them in a journal. Each on starting with the words “To my future self…” She kept all her plans stacked neatly in a box so that everything would be perfect once her opportunity arrived. She never got stressed out by the wait. She kept faith. Each morning she walked to the little meadow by the road and waited. She was there as sun rose and when the sun set on the opposite horizon. Sometimes the wind would come and she had to hold on so tightly to her little box of plans that her knuckles would turn white but she was fierce and prevailed against the wind. Other days the rain fell so hard that the meadow seemed to become a lake but still she would not be defeated. She held her little box of plans high above her head so they would not be washed away. When the snow and ice came the fire in her heart blazed brightly and once more her little box of plans remained secure. Nothing could rob her of her dreams. She was strong and beautiful and determined. She only lacked one crucial element. The opportunity she waited on never came to this meadow. And she waits there still.
We can have the best laid plans.
We can have the heart of a lion.
We can have all the faith in world.
And, we can have too much patience when waiting for an opportunity instead of traveling beyond our comfort zone and creating the opportunity ourselves.
Living is an action word. It might be difficult to know which action is the right one but inaction is the wrong state of being. Sure, timing is important. But time is also fleeting. Don’t wait too long. Do something every day to achieve at least a little piece of your goal. That’s how progress is made.
A balmy breeze sweeps across the open field gently shaking the tall grasses. Just outside the frame the sweet scent of roses finds it way to the spot where we’re just taking in the warmth. The curious little hoverfly buzzes up our faces for a better look at the giants who have come to visit his space. I heard you giggle slightly when he landed on the end of my nose just make sure that I wasn’t some strangely tall flower. Satisfied that I wasn’t a good source of pollen or nectar he lifted off once more and returned to the daisy. This is perfect spot for our time together. We spread out the old blanket that we keep in the back of car for emergencies. It’s our getaway time. No agendas. No responsibilities. Just time to lay down and watch the world. We look at clouds and make up stories about the shapes we see. We laugh and talk until the birds singing transitions into crickets. Just before the last rays of the sun disappear behind the mountains the little hoverfly returns. I couldn’t help but giggle when he landed on your nose too.
It was a perfect day but we can’t stay here forever. We gather our blanket and put it in its place in the back of the car until the next perfect day. Which I hope is tomorrow.