More Than a Wildflower 

More than a wildflower, a story. 

Once upon a time there was a wild azalea. 

In cold and dark, at the tip of a sharp, bare branch. 

On winter’s edge, stick’s end, with no signs of life, alone. 

Except relentless wind blowing, and yet, 

with each sway and bend, on each bow to earth, it never broke. 

Stem flexing with every low dip and sudden drop, a surge within made it stronger. Acid in the soil of pine flatwood pushed it forward. 

Fibrous, suckering roots kept it growing, despite bitter weather in the forest. 

But all the way down at the very end of that dull limb shot out something stunning. Crimson tubes, pink and white blossoms. 

Clusters, spirals, and concentric circles. 

Deep roseate trumpets, long curving stamens, and one exceedingly dramatic, protruding pistil.

A marvelous display of inflorescence, brightly set against a landscape rousing from dormancy.

Picturesque and fragrant, resembling honeysuckles, smelling like petunias. Reaching airy heights, arching over vividly. 

So enchanting, a most remarkable occurrence could be overlooked so easily. The dazzling manifestation would distract from noticing that 

the wild azalea is a specimen of Nudiflorum. 

In stark contrast to its profusive dressing, 

its flowers are naked. 

And thus they adorn denuded branches. 

Their destiny to brilliance, a leafless exilation. 

Leaves emerge, smooth and dark green, but later. 

Exposed to the world, unable to take refuge under foliated protection, 

the immature flower is forced to make its own appearance. And yet, 

tolerance and persistence produce a truly inspirational victory over adversity. Still a triumph over struggle after fifty million years of fifty million springtimes. 

More than a wildflower, a story. 

More than a story, life. 

At some point, all know the lonely spot at the desolate end of a dark, cold night. And yet, from our nakedness may come our best colors. 

Through adversity may bloom our most glorious flowers. 

It's never too late to add them to the garden.