Wherever I am in the world, flowers are like celebrities to me. Like a stealthy paparazzi, I stalk them — except instead of hiding out in the bushes, it’s the very blooming bushes that I’m after.
And here in Homer, Alaska, the pageant of flora that unfurls during the warmer months is like a red carpet event with Mother Nature in a full unabashed strut, and a velvet rope made of pure horizons.
As spring wakes, yellow dandelion flowers like tiny suns wink open from the earth, which by some miracle transform into puffy pom poms that carry fractalized spring kisses into the early June air. Then July brings the jubilant Lupine brigade, with their elongated and petaled bodies in purple gradients disco dancing in the coastal wind. And who could ignore the pushki, a parade of white skirts flared open in broad daylight.
Finally, like the last few moments of a well-programmed fireworks extravaganza, August pulls out all the punches: giant dahlia blossoms, magenta explosions of fireweed painted onto hilltops and powder pink peonies seeming to hold all the beauty of the world in one single bloom.
I guess what I’m trying to say — with a birthday coming up and a head full of aging-related thoughts — is that this year I’m going to take my cues directly from the flowers. I’m going to revel in the opportunity to bloom into my fullest expression, knowing that the very ephemerality of said bloom is what drives me to make it glorious.
Live Wild!...and petal forward!
Monica
Pictured Above: a few of my favorite flower moments from the last year, including one of our little boy crouched down in a field of dandelion flowers (bottom left corner), communing with the yellow, grasping the inherence of its joy.
