In the sixties, this was about substituting a daisy for a rifle.  The students at Kent State gave their lives for this statement.

But today I want to be the power in a flower.  The tiny violets and forget-me-nots remind me of mornings gathering a childhood bouquet for my mom.  Love in blooms.  Hollyhocks might still be growing where they once bordered the chocolate brown bungalow.  This morning even the bare stalks of wind tossed tulips stand proud and perfect.  The trees are heavy with white on white, pink inside pink, and rose-colored fruit flowers, but the green leaves are gaining presence to widen through the summer.

Intrinsic everlasting beauty that is completely delighted to last for a couple weeks a year.  Staunch stems without petals proud of singular purpose and poise.  Rising in potential promise as the green fuzzy peony pods.  Confetti tossed petals on bare concrete sidewalks celebrating release again and again and again.  This is the power that I claim today.

My true personal Divine Gardener has planted me in love, tenderly setting my roots here and now, nourishing me with Her grace every breath second, smiling and cooing at me as I bend in the wind of this brilliant life on this breathless planet.