I was watching a little one in the garden this morning.

He was staring intently at a dandelion bloom, with fingers gently teasing away its seedlings.

“Be mindful,” I cautioned, as I crouched flower level. “Remember to let the dandelion decide.”

“But, how does the flower know?” He asked, with brows furrowed deeply and a scrunched up, tiny nose.

I had recognized his worry from across the yard, having felt it myself at roughly the same age.

“How does the flower know?” I remember thinking the same to myself, so many years ago, “How does it know where all the new blooms should go?”

I had spent the afternoon plucking dandelion seeds, and placing them into what I felt to be ‘the right order.’

“You mustn’t take on the responsibilities of the wind,” an old woman called out to me. She had such a lovely, knowing smile; I was instantly transfixed. “Let the flower decide,” she winked and walked away.

It was the first time I felt the presence of tree and of flower, and the role that these winds may play.

It was the first time I felt intricately connected; that I had a responsibility in the greater order of things.

It’s true what they say, wouldn’t you agree – that enlightenment doesn’t emerge, it gently creeps.

It finds its way through bended brush and bubbling brook, and the discoveries made upon bended knee.

“How does the flower know,” he asked once again. His voice was urgent, pleading for answer – because he wanted to ensure that the flowers would continue to be.

“The flowers always know,” I smiled in return. “And look, they’ve the wind to help them find their way.”

Though sometimes it may seem an awfully good plan, in the end – each must follow the destiny of will.

Because, the ‘flower’ knows “when its butterfly will return.’

Until then, we must believe…

In peace, my loves….

Namaste ❤️