As the weekend was very April like, I spent most of my Saturday tending to my front patio. The terrace is tiled and every spring, it requires a major overhaul, which I failed to perform this year. Specifically, it needs weeding out. This became painfully apparent particularly after the recent rain, which spurred on this unwanted growth.
As I was bruising my knees and knuckles while ripping and scratching through that minimal line of dirt between each tile, which despite all odds manages to provide enough space and nutrients to house some resilient plants, I became aware of another side of the growing green that I was so furiously fighting.
A nuisance to almost every gardener, the term weed can encompass many various plants, depending on where they are found. Yet, as I paused in my labor, I got to contemplate the amazing vigilance of these unwanted beauties. They can grow out of sand, in drought, with very little soil and no help at all.
I couldn't help but realize that there is a likeness between plants and people. Some of us are just like weed; so strong and resilient, not likely to ever give up or give in. Those who can be thrown into any environment, into any situation and they will do well. Surviving on the minimal, turning nothing into plenty. Always landing on their feat, never brought down by defeat. No matter how many times they are uprooted and removed, they will come again, stronger than before.
I admire people like these as I do not belong to this category.
I am not sure I belong to the other end of the scale either.
That which harbors the more sensitive, but brilliant plants, that giving the right conditions will flourish beyond belief. Under the wrong conditions though will shrivel and subsequently perish. Those particular in every way, demanding care and attention. In need of warmth, sun and attentive care in order to feel happiness. But then will bloom in colours, spreading love and beauty. Very much like an orchid, stunning and intricate, complicated and delicate, one that will only live when looked after properly.
I do not think I am likely an orchid though, even though I thought so once.
Nor am I like a rose, which harbours unapproachable beauty, nor a sunflower, turning towards the sun. Not a tulip or any spring bulb that delivers beauty with extraordinary resilience.
I hope I am the flowering chives.
Fragile and easily burned by frost, while preserving its inner core pristine and unblemished through terrible ordeals, withstanding even the most fierce conditions. Thus ultimately resilient and strong, patiently waiting for the optimal requisite in order to thrive. And thus, when the time is right, once again growing with incredible perseverance. Looking so plain and ordinary, resembling weed, yet cultivated and sophisticated, bursting with taste.
Armored with patience, guarding a hidden treasure to be revealed to those who can see beyond the unpretentious look of this estrange plant; only when cherished the right way and given freedom to an unrestricted growth will it bloom with soft violet-blue flowers, full of sweet nectar, reflecting the evening sky during the month of white nights.