By Sara Teasdale
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.
One day the sun is shining brightly in the sky, not a cloud in sight, just the prettiest blue you’ve ever seen. A soft breeze blows through rustling the green grass, and you decide to take a walk. After a few left turns where you normally turn right, you find a field that you’ve never noticed. Something compels you to walk further into the field, the sun still shining high in the sky, the gentle breeze blowing past, the melodic sounds of natures creatures echoing in your ears. Midway thru the field, there is a clearing that you hadn’t seen from the outer edge. You set your sights on it as the perfect place to rest and enjoy this wonderful day given to you by some higher power when as you approach you notice something you’ve never laid eyes on before in your life. You draw your breath as you approach, not wanting to disturb anything.
There before you, in the middle of the clearing, standing alone against the emerald green grass and the powdery blue cheerfulness of the sky, is this amazing, stunning, beautiful flower. The word flower doesn’t do it justice, but there isn’t another word in the dictionary that comes close to describing it. Its sparkles under the glowing sun, in hues of sapphire, gold, and a center red as flame. Its no taller than 3 feet high, but the way it reaches majestically to touch the sky, you’d swear it was taller than you. You circle it, giving it a wide berth, not wanting to disturb a single inch of it as you inspect the velvety soft, smooth petals. For a split second you think of taking it with you, your only human, and to have something so beautiful in your possession would be an honor indeed, but you cant do it, you cant risk destroying it by taking it from where it belongs, here in its own special spot. Taking a deep breath you survey the spot one last time before returning home. The vision remains in your minds eye for days until light turns to darkness, and the icy winds bring forth the seasons first snow. The storm is vicious, the cold winds whipping and ripping every remaining leaf from the trees and the first crisp white blanket of snow covers the ground. Its two days later before your able to get out into the field, and even from a distance you can see corners of the petals sticking out from under the covering of snow, so you slow your pace. Once in the clearing, you inspect your flower, circling it, stopping briefly here and there to inspect a few spots a bit more closely. Miraculously the flower is still standing. it’s a bit worse for wear, theres some tears in the petals where the snow had gotten too heavy, or the wind had ripped and torn the petals, but the cold and the ice and the snow didn’t destroy it.
You marvel at the strength the mere flower possesses as you walk home in the frigid air. Weeks pass, and another snow storms comes, this time worse than the first, so again, after a few days you make the trek out to your field, to check on your flower. Again you find it still standing, yet there are more tears, it appears a bit weaker, its colors less striking, less vibrant. You are discouraged, wonder if you should bring it home to nurse it back to its full splendor, but in your heart you know that if its still standing after the abuse it took, it will be able to withstand, to survive in its own home, where it belongs, so you sulkily plod home thru the snow.
Storm after icy storm plows through that winter, and each one damages your flower more than the last. It persevered though, and come spring, as the frosty air warmed, and the sun shined again, melting the snow from the now well worn path, you make the journey to see your flower once more. Its slumped over, not how you expected, and the colors are dull rather than vibrant and full of life. You hurriedly rush over to it, your tears dampen the silky petals as you struggle to gather the earth surrounding the plant, you try and dam it up, to prop your flower so it doesn’t fall over. The one thing that still stands strong is the flaming red almost glowing center of the flower. As much as it was hurt and crushed, the flame was not extinguished. Your tears soften the dirt, the soil rich with what your plant needs to regrow what it has lost. The luster is gone, but the framework is still there, it has a fighting chance. It needs the warmth of the sun, the vitamins from the ground, the love from you to rebuild it, to bring it back to the glory it once was.
Weeks pass, and after some rain, some love, and some sunshine, your flower stands tall again, majestic and beautiful, stronger than ever.
In this story, the flower is like your spirit, facing the cruel harsh icy words of those who wish to cut you down, to hurt you. Look within, love yourself and nurture your spirit back to its full potential. Anyone can cut you down, that’s the sad truth of it, anyone with a heart can have it broken, but YOU can rebuild what was taken, you can strengthen what was weakened and make it stronger than ever. Love yourself first, dig deep and fight through the storm, fight the cold harsh darkness, because you know with certainty spring WILL come again.