"The day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." ~Anaïs Nin
Every time I ponder this quote I picture rose.
It could be any flower: an apple blossom, lily, crocus, or blue flag iris. But it's always a rose in my mind's eye ~medicine of the heart.
The simple five-petaled rose bush grows wild along the Vermont countryside, in gardens, sometimes long forgotten, but still blooming on edges of yards from long ago. When we harvest the bloom of the Rugosa Rose, this introduced-gone-wild variety, we snip the flower head from the stem with a whisper of gratitude and place it into the basket, often to the hum of bees.
As long as we continue to snip the flower heads off, the plant, as any healthy flowering plant will do, continues to produce buds and flowers reaching for its final stage of seed.
I'm old enough to not be amazed by this, but why bother with NOT being amazed if given the choice!