The Short Life of a Cactus Flower
A lesson in how to live - My Sunday Best #66
I love stepping outside in the early morning and checking in on my outdoor plants to see how they are doing—if they look happy, or sad, or thirsty, or hot. So far, they’re all hanging in there through the whims of Mother Nature.
Earlier this week I put a make-shift shade cloth over the cosmos daisies during a heat wave when then temperatures pushed the mercury up to the high 90s. They seemed to appreciate my effort and straightened up their stems again. I know how they feel. I tend to slump down a bit when I’m overheated too.
The brown-eyed Susans began to bloom on the summer solstice. Until now, I had never seen the velvety brown centers of these flowers up close. The contrast between the dark brown and yellow is stunning—a real-life study in color compliments. That’s how I know I can wear yellow and brown together.
I also take much pleasure in the feral sunflowers. They have created a welcoming display that looks as if it was planned—misfit seeds that fell from the bird feeder and escaped to make a life of their own. Most of these summer blooms last for at least a week or so, with others right behind them.
However, this week, two particular flowers stole the show and my heart. They came from an unassuming round-shaped cactus. I’d been watching two protrusions grow for weeks—getting longer and longer and eventually forming what appeared to be buds. A few days ago, I noticed a few hair-like leaves had begun to separate, reaching outwards. On Wednesday, my husband and I sat outside next to the cactus and discussed our opinions about when and if the cactus would bloom. He said he thought it was going to be that night. I wasn’t so sure.
When the mosquitos came out to graze, we moved inside. A couple of hours later, I remembered that I had left a bag of trash outside on a chair. A raccoon has been making nightly visits, so I got up, put some shoes on, and took the trash down to the receptacle in the pitch dark. As I walked back up to our deck, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. I stopped to look and it was two beautiful white baseball-sized flowers on the cactus. The beauty literally, took my breath away. I ran inside and shared the news and we both went out to take in this incredible event. The next morning, I awoke to find the flowers were still there, but by noon they had closed up again and that was it. The two flowers simutaniously opened up, and closed—over and done.
In the short span of 12 hours, a flower lived its short life. And in those twelve hours, it gave everything it had to offer. I called our neighbors, took pictures, and shared this phenomenon on social media so others could bear witness to the tiny miracle of one cactus. One cactus in a world of millions of other cacti made a difference in my life during the few short hours of its existense.
This small act of nature reminded me that the little things are the big things. Every momentary glimpse of beauty matters, and there is room for all—for every blossom, every butterfly, every hearfelt offering, every act of kindness. There can never be too much good in this world.
I hope your cup is filled today with all that is good and that you know how much beauty you bring to the world just by being you and doing that thing you do.
