where gradual change breaks up the beautiful once again:
to wonder at the throes of dying,
to know the kindness of a glistening dawn
when all before seemed darkness,
when all to come seems ephemeral;
brokenness in a moment
Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth—nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over —
~William Carlos Williams — “Queen Anne’s Lace” (1919)
We all arise from a single stem, branching off in countless directions, a thousand million hues and shapes and types. We reflect the sunlight and we reflect the Light of the Son.
There can be no question of whiteness nor a pious wish for purity – we are all blemished right at the heart.
We are, each one of us, all colors and we are, each one of us, bruised purple at the core. We bleed together, my friends, as He did for us. We bleed together.
Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them…
~A.A.Milne from Winnie the Pooh (Eeyore)
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O Let them be left, wildness and wet:
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
~Gerard Manley Hopkins, Inversnaid
A weed is a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson, Fortune of the Republic
I’ve always identified with weeds more than cultivated blooms. I tend to be fluffy, spread out where I’m not necessarily wanted or needed, and seem to be resilient through drought or flood. Their persistence helps me let them be. EPG