FEARLESS The budding plant opens slightly, revealing a deep dark colour of redness, pure and beautiful. Day by day, little by little, she begins to open up. The leaves give way. They can’t hold her in. She unfolds, spreads out, unfurls, one petal at a time. She marvels at the brightness of daylight, marvels at the birds, and the grasses and the rivers and streams. Marvels at the endless possibilities. She can sway, she can dance in the wind, she can be still and take it all in. The world is at her doorstep. Then she shivers at the darkness of night, for times when it seems that the daylight would never come. And when strong winds threaten to tear her apart, she steels her youthful neck all fresh and green, and clasps herself, holds herself against the force of the wind, her tendrils pulling tight. How something so delicate and fragile can hold itself against powerful gusts of winds. Could it be sheer strength? or will power? Or perhaps both. 13 The Birthday Journal
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