Solitary Bloom

Solitary Bloom
GW Yeatman


Every year an azalea behind my house blooms in glorious profusion.  Flowers shroud it like snow. A common green bush becomes a white resplendent wonder. Then one day petals wilt and fade. Flowers shrink into ugly tufts of brown detritus soon to return to earth's replenishing humus.

Yet one remains.  For weeks I gaze at it.  Day after day I look to see if the bloom still clings to its source of extended sustenance.  Yes, it is there.  Why, I wonder?  Why does this piece of lingering life still exist surrounded by last month’s dead ephemera?

Each year I wonder if this solitary azalea is trying to speak to me.  “Be like me,” it says.  “Stay strong, hang on.  Do not for a minute loosen your grip on the source of sustaining vitality.  Remain when all else has faded beyond hope. Simply, simply remain!”

Am I to bloom when I would rather fade?  Am I to remain when others wilt away? Should I strive to provide a touch of hope in a world of shrunken plans and dying dreams?  Am I to cling when others fall?

But only a fool would listen to a flower, I remember.  Then let that fool be me! Though my spirit has often wilted, let it bloom.  Though my mind has often faded, let it flower. Though my countenance lingers in browning lackluster, may I whiten and bask in brilliant sunlight.  May others see in me some sign of beauty, some petal of enduring value.

Then, someday I too must shrink and let go. And, having imparted a small petal of living hope, may I fall to enrich the soil for others to blossom en masse or simply in solitary bloom.