the last thing i expected to see – when we left the building – was anything of beauty.
and yet, there it was. just a little down the hill. growing out of a crack on the city sidewalk, a prickly thistle – with all its thorns – in full bloom.
the flowers were dynamic and dimensional. spiny. seuss-ish.
the plant stopped me. it stopped all thought. it stopped all manner of anything. it was that unexpected. and suddenly, i was distracted. and it was all about the musk thistle blooms. the mystery of prickly and stunning co-existing, a plant that can grow where others cannot.
and for a few moments, i was lost to texture and color…fuchsia and pink, purple and maroon, my heart lifting.
it is said – in the celtic tradition – that the thistle represents resilience.
and we are witnesses. to the thistle. to the meadow. to this slice of the earth.
we watch, as time passes. we note changes, dramatic and subtle. we are aware of the nuances of these moments – transitory. we are inside the ephemeral.
we are intentional; we fritter away.
and the thistle is witness to us as we stand still – for little bits of a while – in admiration. our gaze is focused, memorizing beauty, not questioning the randomness of our attention.
just holding it all in wonder. just perceiving the glorious. just unmoving and moved.
sharing this space of time – together – within the perpetuity of it all, what do the thistle, the meadow, this slice of earth see – looking back at us?
reverse threading 