I was taking a bike ride down a country road the other morning. (Those of you who know me can appreciate the absurdity of this image, but it’s true, I assure you.) And I found myself absolutely captivated by the small blue flowers that dotted the tall grasses along the side of the road.
The blue was so intense – and the flowers were so small against the other grasses – that they looked like little jewels in a green velvet box. (My nifty iPhone is capable of many things, but tragically, extreme close-ups aren’t one of them; these pictures don’t do justice.)
The morning light made these simple flowers absolutely luminous. They were just beaming the light right back at me, happily, without any self-consciousness whatsoever. Say it loud: we’re blue and we’re proud.
I pedaled on, but I had to keep stopping. How lovely they are against the yellow marsh grasses! I wanted to say. Now look at them against the dark green shady leaves! How exquisite! How gorgeous!
I felt so light all the way into town, grinning like an idiot as I picked up a newspaper at the Acme and ate a muffin at the coffee shop. I knew it was silly, but I was anxious to get going and see the little blue flowers again.
But when I got back on the road, the flowers were gone.
I looked around – had I not gotten to the right stretch of road yet? But then I realized that the grass all along the side of the road had been mowed. Hacked to ragged bits. I was stunned.
I asked my husband about it later, and he said that the town likes to keep about 5 feet clear on either side of the road. Not sure why – to provide a shoulder for cars, keep animals farther from the edge of the road, something like that. Not very good reasons, in my opinion.
I’d thought the little flowers were cornflowers (no horticulturalist, I), but when I looked them up online, the pictures of cornflowers were different than these. More petals, more ruffliness, different blue. So my little mystery flowers remain a mystery.
I know I need to get out of the city more, but frankly, I don’t think I can handle this kind of disappointment again.
