Long ago, someone told me I shined like Christmas. Even though it came from a stranger, I have never forgotten those words. Better than being told I was beautiful, “shining” was something I believed I was capable of. For years after, I did shine. I radiated, loved and was loved back. These days, though, I mostly feel worn down and chewed up. Like the light in me has been extinguished.
My friend shakes her head at me, “Why are you photographing the worst-looking plants in my garden?”
“They’re more interesting than the perfect ones,” I said. But it’s more than that. I’m drawn to survivors, to the ones with scars who, though maybe not always beautiful, have a mighty shining about them anyway. It might be evidence of my still unbroken hope that, even in the wormiest cabbage, I can see a sun.
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Lovely, Robin. Both photo and text.
Thank you, Libby. I think I need to do more with those lacy cabbages. There must be many more stories they can tell.
Wishing you moments of joy, Robin. It’s a hard time in this world and it makes the burden of grief even heavier. With love and hope, Elaine
Yes, Elaine. Thank you. There are still many moments o joy in my life. Although I am always surprised by where they come from. I’ve been spending hours every day getting rid of all the honeysuckle and grapevines that are strangling the trees around my home. The lawn areas have been shrinking for years as the mowers mowaround the ever-growing stuff. And now my heart soars as I “rescue” trees, young and old, from the overtaking foliage. Weird how happy it makes me.
That cabbage 🥬 is a marvelous metaphor for revitalization. Fresh and new in the middle, perforated and partially eaten around the edges. Love it.
Revitalization and resilience. That’s what the cabbage means to me, Lucy. They always show up in a cook’s garden and they always fascinate me.