Purple Flower

Some days are tough. Work was tough, home was tough, heart and head were tough. Even the weather got tough. Duncan and I had a beautiful stroll early this morning, under blue skies, crisp fresh air and beaming sunshine. Duncan padded along in that merry morning way of his, kind of bleary-eyed and gangly, not at all coordinated, rather lackadaisical and ho-hum. He likes to take his time in the morning investigating the smells that have accumulated over the course of the night, rolling his face in the dewy, newly green grass, stopping to stare into the sun or the yellow dandelions which have begun to spring up along the edge of the sidewalk. All day I hoped our afternoon walk would be like our morning one, but by the time I got home the sky had darkened, the clouds came down low and the wind picked up. Our stroll through the park turned into a quick trot as the temperature dropped and the wind roared through the hood of my sweatshirt, which I'd pulled up over my head in a vain attempt to keep my ears warm. It made a sound like the ocean trapped in a seashell, only cold and frantic, not at all soothing. Duncan pulled me along with little patience and try as I might I could not get him to slow down. I was miserable and hungry, tired and thinking of my grandmother, who I feel very far away from. I did not want to walk. Nothing good seemed able to come from it until we turned back toward home, crossed Bowles and jogged through the gate. As we neared the entrance to The Glen, which is not my home and not where I wanted to be, Duncan stopped quite close to a fire hydrant to sniff around where some mossy, leafy green things grow. The clouds let up and the sun peaked out to reveal a single purple flower, so small and tucked away that it seemed impervious to the sudden April cold and biting wind. The light on its tiny petals turned it nearly transparent and it glowed amid all that green.

How easy it would've been to step over it and never notice it, to hurry home out of the weather, kick away my shoes and write the day off as a loss. But that flower reminded me that there are gems hidden amongst the minutiae of our days, that not everything is dreary and cold, that bright things grow where we least expect them and wait to be revealed when we need them most. From the moment I stumbled on that single flower my day brightened. The sun stayed out, the wind died down and the night came on slowly and quietly, the clouds outside the window turning orange and then fading into purple then gray and finally darkness.

How sweet a miserable day can become with friends like Duncan, who knows where the special things grow.