Perennials Reap

“My mother used to plant the loveliest Perennials in the middle of spring, and all summer they would blossom and bloom and fill our yard with vibrant beauty unlike any other. Of course, come winter, they’d be crushed and buried by the weight of the white. But every April, I’d watch out of my window as the reds and pinks effortlessly painted the garden again with the same old seed. I don’t know if we’ll be like those flowers that come back to live as the seasons change, even after being nothing at all for months and months. I don’t know what kind of weather will be the one that stunts what we’ve grown into or if we’ll be rooted enough to break the soil again later down the road. But I do know this: things do not need to be permanent to be real, do not need to be visible to hold hope, and do not need to last forever to be beautiful.”