We’ve let our property turn into a proper jungle. Completely overgrown and neglected. We’ve slowly been chipping away at reclamation. There were a few rose bushes planted in the side yard. Unsurprisingly, invasive ‘whatevers’ effectively choked them out, and they did not produce blooms well. Within two weeks of freeing them all four bushes have exploded with blooms, spreading out wide and without shame.
Interesting that even a rose is susceptible to being overshadowed. What does it mean? Does pretty not survive, or have staying power? What about the thorns? Say what then of the weeds? Do we underestimate the plain? Why do we balance between prizing fragility and then also hating or resenting it? Perhaps we all just in the wrong environments for what we are. Or maybe exactly in the right ones. Is this about grit, about depth, about perseverance? Does it speak on colonialism, protecting the beautiful or what isn’t necessarily ours?
Is it darker even, like how nature doesn’t care about your house. Your job. Your ideas of what’s beautiful or not. If it is beautiful it just happens to be, existing as a function. It only cares about survival. Choking out the weak is what it does best. Shall I be the rose? Or the unknown growth with roots entangling brick and foundation, willing it to give.
Gently whispering, enticing to come back to the dirt with the rest of them.