Lonely as a sentinel it stood, atop a
weathered post overlooking the Pacific Ocean but guarding nothing. A small,
clear, plastic bottle with a narrow white band near the opening was the
placeholder for an array of weeds and dainty, purple flowers soaking in
life-sustaining water.
A cool breeze skimmed the surface of the
ocean nearby, racing up the bluff and fluttering the small delicate petals of
the Calandrinia and waving the Foxtail which were arranged in the no-label bottle.
And in the background, out over the horizon
the yellow paintball of a setting sun seemed to touch the blades of the Foxtail
on its way to nightfall.
Remember back when you were a child and
you spotted a blooming weed (maybe a dandelion or Yellow Woodsorrel mixed
among clover) and you lovingly plucked it from the earth and with pride took it
home to your mother. She was so excited
to receive the gift and always found a container, maybe a widemouthed Mason jar
or a favorite cup, and carefully arranged the weed bouquet till it wilted away. Both of you were happy!
And here, a primitive bouquet of wildflowers, so to
speak waited. But how did it get there? Who carefully plucked this bouquet,
found the small plastic bottle, filled it with water, and carefully arranged
the bunch? Was it a present for a
lover? Was it a gift from a child? Was it in remembrance of a friend? Or just maybe it was to honor the day
and add to the mystery of the disappearing sun.
But it was left in a lonely place, not seen by many. Maybe that was the plan, after all. A quiet and peaceful offering. Or maybe because it was a bouquet of quickly
plucked flowers and weeds it did not make the cut for the journey home. For whatever the reason it was left, other
than prompting dreamy speculation, it brought me a moment of pleasure to contemplate
its beauty being kissed by the setting sun.
