The flower that resides before my door

The flower that resides before my door.
I planted it with my own hands.
Late in the season, it didn't have much time to grow.
It took what little time it was given and made the most of it.
The cold came, but it stood strong.
Pride supporting its stem.
The cold came, but it stood long.
Defiant too the end.
It stood with a lean then a droop then a lay.
It held on to to every last moment yet defiant every day.

Its heart began to slow as the cold took over like a cancer.
You could see it begin to accept, not death, but another, slower, drained, weaker, quieter leg of the journey.
One spent mostly on the sidelines.
Watching as the the other plants turn brown and wither, and dry, and bid farewell to the season that they so enjoyed, but this flower didn't have the time to enjoy the season.
This flower spent every moment of everyday striving to be the best and the brightest and the tallest and the most noteable flower that it could be, and what did that accomplish in the end?
Plucked out of the garden, roots and all.
Cast aside into the grass to die alone and unremembered.
A weed in the eyes to the one that did it such injustice.

Why?

Because it put its heart out for the world to see and had faith.
Blind faith.
Faith in people doing the right thing.
but not all people do what you belive to be right.
Sometimes they just don't know better.
Sometimes, they think they are doing the right thing.
Sometimes, they mistake you for a weed, judging you without the slightest option to defend yourself.

Cold, alone, and dying in the night.
Lost and without hope, I discover my flower laying in the grass just inches from my garden.
I opened my heart to it just as I opened back up the earth from which it was torn, and placed it gently back where it deserved to be within my garden and within my soul.

It is my child.
It was my child from the day I picked it up and chose it to be a part of my life.
The love I have for it is so different. So unique... yet .... detached.
It lies there now in my garden, counting the days until its end.
It doesn't even look at me anymore when I step outside.
It just stares at the ground, because that is all it has the energy to do.
Everyday, giving in to the cancer of winter just a little more until that last shred of hope flickers out and it awates the end,because the end will bring peace, and take the cold away.
I am little more than a lucent memory to my flower these days, though it holds strong in my thoughts.
When I look upon it, I do not see the form that it is now, broken and tired of life.
When I think back upon it, I see the tall, proud, bright and beautiful flower that it fought so hard to be in such little time.
No one really ever noticed this one flower... except for me.
I noticed.

I noticed, because I loved it.
I loved it then and I love it now.
It will always be the most beautiful flower I have ever seen, and after it is gone, it will still bring a smile to my heart.

With a weight tied to each step I take, and a sigh in my breath, I know what it wants from me.
I know it is not happy anymore.
The life and joy drained from it so long ago that to try to conjure the memory only hurts more.
There is little energy for pride these days, but with what little it has left, it looks at me, and with feelings more powerful than any words could convey, we both know its time to let go.

I go inside and retrieve the blade.

I come back outside my front door and take a moment to reflect.

Ever so gently running my fingers along its stem, I think back to its days of beauty and strength, when nothing in the world could stop it.
My fingers reach the base of the stem, and wrap around the bottom for support.
I need support.
I need support but I can't say it. Not now.
I know I have to be the strong one, but its hard.
Its hard but I won't let it show.

A lump in the throat, and a brief race of the heart as the blade takes control!

A sigh is all that escapes the silence...

The long, cold silence.


I step back inside as the cold becomes too much to bare.