Outside the window where I sit and write, the sunflower burst to life this morning. Yesterday it was just bud on a stem. Today it is cloaked in golden glory.
The sunflower grows wild in my garden. I didn’t plant it there. We lived in this house for many years sans sunflowers. But then a few years back, a crop of sunflowers shot up among the monkey grass and cone flowers. Most things in the garden have perished this summer under the blistering heat too wicked for even the heartiest of roses. But the sunflowers seem to bloom to spite the heat. As if to say, we are strong enough to stand no matter what wickedness comes our way.