It was sad a couple years ago when they logged behind our property. But I remember when the first spring came and all the destruction was buried beneath a blanket of wild flowers and lush grasses. It screamed hope. That God’s beauty cannot be tamed.

Well this year it’s grown up even more. And today, after pausing on the house work, and shooing the kids out the door, we discovered they were back!

Strawberries hid among the flowers. Thimble berry flowers stretched for the sun promising juicy fruits to come.

You know what’s even better than being given a bouquet of flowers? (Which is pretty awesome don’t get me wrong)

Walking THROUGH a bouquet of flowers.

Being IN them.

I could cry just thinking of that feeling. Being surrounded by so many beautiful things!

The arrangements change every few feet so it’s hard to tire of their carefree beauty.

Elise tried to pick one of every kind on our walk. The boys even got excited hunting down ones she might have missed.

When they would call out “do you have this white one?”

She would look down at her blossoming handful painted with stokes of whites and say “which white one?! There are so many different kinds!”

We even found a little lady bug- who rode the bouncing bouquet like a rumbling chariot. And sadly took his leave a few stops before the destination of my garden.

I forgot all about my blasted cottonwood allergies and grew excited about my new freedom from pollen- thanks to local honey. I waded through a cosmos of flowers and let Elise know her bouquet could go “inside” when we get home.

I even sang a little song as we strolled along. About my daughter, the flower maiden, being called by the wildflowers irresistible beauty with itching fingers. But although I sung it over and over- for the life of me I can’t remember the little verses.

Sometimes moments have songs. I suppose that was one of them.

Manicured beauty draws my attention- but wild natures raw beauty leaves me in raptures.

I love how God didn’t choose one kind of wild flower to paint the fallen forest with. Or even a few. But seemingly endless amounts. He’s really quite the florist! What he does with those weeds? Ummmm hmmm. He good.

And so if the great florist spends such thought on little weeds- don’t you think he spends a great deal more on you?

It’s true.

I often feel like when life piles up, or gets all crazy like my fridge art (I got four artists)- being in nature’s where I feel like what matters surfaces. And I feel gratitude eek out of me.

I love that old saying, “stop and smell the roses”.

Today just happened to be wild ones.

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