A Withered Bloom

It snowed yesterday, and I am looking out the window from the kitchen island as I write. The soil in the kitchen garden has been turned, but the wildflowers along the fence’s edge still have some withered blooms on the top of brown stalks, which will remain throughout the winter until new ones replace them in spring.

Since childhood, I have been fascinated by the barren stalks that do not fall into the shrouds of snow at their feet. The petals fade and decay long before the first snow, but not the stalks. They stand tall.

Even as I walked across the snow-filled fields on my way home from school when I was a boy, the lonely stalks caught my attention and I wondered why they remained along the muddy, country roads.

I used to think it was defiance, but now after all these years I think it’s perseverance. Sure the flower’s bloom is gentle and uplifting through long summer days, but the straw-colored stalk, resilient in the white bank of dusty snow, gives me hope that even if some things fade there remains a piece that can resist cold, barren winter winds and wear a different beauty.