“Bloom where you’re planted.” There it is again, that old adage that keeps telling you to shut up and be happy. Every time I whine about the cold (as I sit on my porch with a blanket over me, it’s mid-September and the gig is up. Summer’s over, deal with it) and threaten to move south, the little voice inside my head tells me to get busy blooming.
I’ve always tried to bloom where I was planted. Tried to do my best at whatever opportunity presented itself. Okay, maybe not every single one, but most.
I suppose we can all take a lesson from the butterfly who definitely blooms where planted. Jeff and I were riding bikes on Assateague Island in Virginia a few years back and the butterfly parade was something short of spectacular. Actually, if there was something truly spectacular this side of heaven, that was it. No kidding, there was a different flock/species/color of butterfly on every single hibiscus bush. It was the most amazing display of nature I’d ever experienced.
A few months later, I toured a butterfly sanctuary in Florida and when I told the naturalist about the butterflies, he said they must have laid their eggs there when they migrated the year before. Let this be an open invitation for them to come back and use the Eastern Shore as their depository anytime.
Enough about butterflies. It’s time to bloom where I want to be planted and I am forever grateful for the choice. Georgia? Florida? Jamaica? Ocean Pines?
We’ll see…only God knows for sure.