Printed on Tyvek, 100 x 100 cm, with bulldog clips to hang.
If our lives were lived in the shifting colors of a garden, or relationships were kept and cherished as bouquets from a wild meadow in the afternoon sun. If all our memories were transformed into flowers, if only our thoughts and actions were filtered through the foliage of the forest. Things would be different.
If flowers blooming were a spoken language, we could be speaking to each other through the colors, love through nectar and ticking time would have been the falling leaves of thousands and again thousands of flower crowns. If so, no one would ever be hurt again.
Flowers do not appear to compete. Buds are blooming in the darkest forests, or high upon a cliff of a rocky mountain, hidden behind a wall or rising through devastated grounds, never asking for attention, just blossoming. They focus on staying grounded in the mud, reaching for the light – blooming – for the souls whose fate has been enriched with its presence.
To remember: We all bear seeds inside. Seek courage and wisdom to find them, nourish them and to see them bloom. Ground our feet, accept our roots and positions, seek the sky – you are just seconds from blooming.