brock liked to ask me annoying things like what would i do if i saw a lily (my favorite flower) in the middle of a field and it was the most stunning, unusual lily i had ever seen? not only that, it was like God had decided to put it there just for the purpose of pleasing me. would i pick it or leave it there?
i had just said i'd pick it to take it home with me when he had to go and wax eloquent about how leaving it made it all the more beautiful and wonderful and what not because leaving it there allows someone else to enjoy it too.
and of course i swooned... and then later used it as a story to my friends to show how thoughtful and sensitive and philosophical he was (in hopes of trying to counterbalance all of my other stories of him blowing up a truck and losing his eyebrows or of him convincing every male ministry major at calvary bible college to form a streaking club or of him forcing me to take shots of steak sauce because it was a "good experience"). oh love.
so i happened upon a poem today from an obscure locally printed book in an ugly out of the way bookshop that's about this exact question written 30 some years ago by a nonnative coloradoan who had experienced profound loss.
obviously just coincidence. ha :)
A Flower in Winter:
I saw a golden flower
Standing alone
In a patch of weeds
On a winter's day.
It caught my eye as I walked by
And beckoned me to stay awhile
As though I were in need of some
companionship,
And I was.
Its lines were clear and sharp,
As was its color.
It seemed as though someone had
sketched it there for me to
see,
Perhaps to have as a possession
all my own
But was this a flower to be picked
and put upon some mantelpiece?
Or pressed between the pages of
a book of memories?
Or was it meant to be just where
it was?
So beautifully out-of-place
Out-of-season
Standing alone
Capturing the attention
Of lonely people
Who walk by.
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