in the land of coneflowers
I find peace in my garden, among the tall cone flowers and daisies that reach up to my waist, resting my eyes on the pure purple of the wild bergamot. The bees love it, they love all the plants that bloom in bunches of tiny flowers, the catmints, the salvias, the stonecrops.
Towards the middle of the flower bed there is a tall, very imposing plant that I’ve been watching since spring began. For some reason I keep hoping it is one of those perennials I sowed in the fall and then forgot, despite the fact that it reached six feet and doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to produce anything resembling flowers. Even that plant breathes peace and contentment through every one of its abundant lance shaped leaves.
You can’t feel deprived in the land of cone flowers, they won’t have it! Worries and cares get trapped inside their pincushion centers that look a lot softer than they actually are. The cone flowers are excited to be in the sunshine, grateful for the plentiful rain, they don’t need anything right now and therefore are happy.
I wind myself down to get closer to their leisurely rhythm only to realize that during the last week they grew another foot. Who’s slow now?
They’ll be there next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. Whatever seeds the cardinals and finches spare over the winter are going to fall on the ground and sprout more cone flowers. During life’s tumultuous changes, or the ones so subtle and seamless we often fail to notice their magnitude, the cone flowers are as close as one can get to a sure thing. They’ll always be there.