Nurture your Nature

Dancing with the dandelions

For

GROUP

Blogging Circle of Friends   (E) A group for WDC bloggers. #1901868 by Lyn's a sly fox

         "Without freedom of choice there is no creativity." James T. Kirk, "The Return of the Archons" (Star Trek) What do you think?

I've written rhyming couplets, stanzas, poems.
Little comes close to rhyming with orange.
I've tried growing gazanias where the sun seldom shines.
I'm better off dancing with wanton dandelions.

Sometimes I must pay attention to my equals (characters), rulers (cat's rule!), slaves (tomatoes), artistic friends (dandelions) or family (geraniums). If I don't they won't take care of me.

Orange gazanias don't want freedom. They want sunshine! My characters however do NOT want to be me.

Cats want to be fed or petted ... on their terms; they seem to like stability. Tomatoes just laugh as if I were a joke. They snicker, "pick me", "no me" then hide and rot if I'm not careful. Geraniums just ignore me and take a nap if I neglect them.

But those poor dandelions ...

Every year the haters try to murder them. Lawns must be weed free, worm free, bee free... sterile. And green, even if that means painting them.

Dandies don't ask for much. They're quite capable of surviving between slabs of concrete. Every crack is a potential home. But no ... no ... NO ... "resistance is futile". So they blow away with the breeze to where they can thrive.

They choose to survive ... on their own terms.

When I go down the sidewalk to the market for groceries I pass the proud irises waving their flags, admire the tulips, and later petunias,          spaced          out          just          so,          praise the alyssum neatly bordering the path to someone's door.

When I return by the alleyways I thank the neglected lilacs for their fragrance, the weedy elm for its shade, the untrimmed hedge for blocking the wind. I pluck sage without asking permission, crush it between my fingers before I inhale.

I applaud every johnny-jump-up blooming in a gravel patch.

One can be creative within boundaries, even in a sonnet about the bland blond beige boring suburbs of Pleasantville. But if one must plant red geraniums with golden marigolds in front of your clipped 1" regulation lawn with a mini-flag so you don't forget what country you live in ...

then you've chosen not to choose. And creativity dies when there are no choices.

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