I woke up this morning feeling a little somber, more reflective than usual—the kind of quiet that makes you notice small things. Some mornings, I step into the garden and feel like the plants are trying to teach me something. Today was one of those mornings.
Right now, the daylilies are having their second burst of bloom—smaller and softer than their early summer show, but still cheerful. The periwinkles are holding their own along the borders, the hydrangeas are currently living their best life, and the poppies… well, they’ve long since called it a season, their petals gone, some stems now standing dry and spent. The daisies didn’t make it through the summer heat at all.
We’re often blasted with headlines that celebrate speed and firsts—the youngest to do this, the first to accomplish that. They read like a scoreboard, measuring our worth against someone else’s stopwatch. But the garden refuses to play that game. Out here, the lilies don’t try to outpace the hydrangeas. The periwinkles aren’t embarrassed that the poppies had their moment months ago. Everything blooms in its own rhythm, on its own timeline, and somehow, it all works out beautifully.
Maybe we could give ourselves that same grace. To bloom when we’re ready, and not a moment sooner. To trust that just because it’s not our season yet, it doesn’t mean it’s never coming.
Because gardens take their time. And so can we. And if my children remember anything from these long, flower-filled summers, I hope it’s this: even if your petals take years to unfurl, you’ll still be beautiful when you do. And maybe—just maybe—the wait will make the bloom all the sweeter. 🌸
– The Wallflower
Glimmers of The Wallflower 
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