“The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.” ~Tennessee Williams in “Camino Real”
(These words became his epitaph)
Some beginnings in this life commence on inhospitable ground:
no soil, no protection, no nurture, barely enough water.
Here lies a drive to thrive and transcend: forcing through a crack in the pavement while exposed to relentless heat.
Such delicate beauty comes from nothing but a seed packed with the potential to transform its circumstances through perseverance. We all are created with the potential power to break through rocks and change the world.
This is the treacherous month when autumn days With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts. Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways, And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts, The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning’s rays Will idly shine upon and slowly melt, Too late to bid the violet live again. The treachery, at last, too late, is plain; Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt. What joy sufficient hath November felt? What profit from the violet’s day of pain? ~Helen Hunt Jackson “November”
Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs But once beside thy bed; But one brief summer, on thy path, The dews of heaven are shed. Thy parent fountains shrink away, And close their crystal veins, And where thy glittering current flowed The dust alone remains. ~from William Cullen Bryant’s last poem “The Stream of Life”
A seed may land in lush green
or a narrow crack of the pavement.
Only a dewy touch from above
will yield blooms from dry rock.
May my dusty soul be bathed