Sunflowers

Halfway between the Library and the Church on Westside Drive stands a utility pole surrounded by a dozen leggy sunflowers, their bright yellow faces now bent towards the ground as if in prayer for the coming winter, their visage weeping seeds for the birds to tuck away against the coming banks of snow that will lock their larders tightly. They encircle the pole, holding leaves like young girls hold hands when they play Ring Around the Rosy, though the only thing falling down are their brown husks and skinny leaves.

They appear bold against the landscape, the brightness of their lowered heads still attracting attention. I marvel at their strength, how so thin a stalk can support so huge and weighty a head. I wonder the piepan head doesn't fall off and smack the ground, but they are stubborn hangers-on. It matters not to them that the stalk is brittle and dry, that the life force has ceased to flow up the column. They are still hard at work, shelter their seeds, passing life on for others to benefit from, giving in their dying gasp a full blown and effective effort to finish the race set before them.

I note their tenacity, determination, strength. Next time I am in the trenches, hanging on by a thread, I will think of that circle of sunflowers, think of their commitment and providence for others. Yes, I can do that. I can continue to draw sustenance even though my resources are thin, continue to hang in there until my work is done. Perhaps I will put a picture of a sunflower near my desk as a gentle reminder. Bow your head in prayer, give it your all.