Out at the edge of the meadow are where the wild
flowers grow. Their fragrance will make you lightheaded and you may wish to
take deep breaths of such sweet perfume. The head of this delicate blossom
bends, turns and sways ever so gently in warm breezes as if a mysterious
energy travels from the earth up and through their stems. Colors of pink,
lavender, gold, have all had their hue blended with a mother color until a
muted sample of baroque artistry remains.
Children with their hair in French braids are
amidst the grasses where these flowers of showy, freshness is abundant. My
heart can only feel as my eye sees the vigor of that life. Is it for this
honest persons stand to watch? What could be more superlative than a picture
such as this? Try as they may artists only capture a part of the total
message. A great wish will in minds reach a hand toward these little ones as
if this gesture could hold all hurt of life away from them. If only the
tenderness of this blossom could be preserved long enough for that
wonderment so awe-inspiring to be saved to close their petals over the
beginning for new life just like their own.
Faces warm from the sudden urge for a game of
tag among the tall grass where all is securely safe. Wisps of curls slip out
from the braids and form damp ringlets around their face. Cheeks so rosy and
faces wet with salty perspiration make me want to brush them with the palms
of my hand to dry and cool their pliable skin.
In this time when the monsters of greed are
upon innocents and the cruel do stand in the shadows created from dark
clouds in lofty place, they walk across the land with sure steps protected
by some force so strong and determined no one can meet or rise against it.
But, what is this? From where comes this breeze of cool relief proving the
teaching, “Of these love is the greatest?” If we prayed with deep, weeping,
throbbing temples were we in our weak flesh considered?
Those who have abused theses innocents for
whatever reason be it greed, lust, revenge, or persecution will know that “I
Am. That I Am,” will be there to fight the battle for them. All the weak
philosophies of men, the treacherous rising against their own creator,
ultimately, as promised will be met with His Strong Arm.
So, if in that meadow, there proves to be
rattling vipers with poison that are slithering in a sneaky quick way
because they have been cursed to eat dust, let them go their way. No amount
of wrong reasoning about doing away with the weak for a superior race will
function effectively. If the philosophy regarding that imperfect reasoning,
“survival of the fittest,” may have been implemented in the most insidious
ways to control, we pray some enlightenment may occur which will direct the
beauty of our children's minds to allow them to reach for and grasp a
passion of their own creative effort to pursue a livelihood.
The edges of the meadow where the wild
flowers grow are not missed by the mower but a new life comes again in the
regrowth of the grasses. Rising again with a continuation as old as the
earth itself. It will give a new birth and promise of hope. The cut meadow
looks clean and like a vast lawn out on the prairie far away from the
heartaches of civilization. Sometimes, I dream I am there again sitting on
the steps of the old rock porch watching the children play among the wild