bloom on arrival
A few weeks ago, I found myself at an airport in Ohio, waiting to welcome my dad and stepmother and drive them out to the countryside for our family reunion.
I got to the gate early.
Remembered the flowers I wanted to bring.
Turned the waiting time into practice—a delicious duality of cultivating stillness and watching attention.
I noticed my posture (upright).
I watched my hand position (hands clasped around the bouquet, held in front of me below my heart).
Gazed at the arrivals (many).
And I watched people’s expressions as they saw the flowers in my hand.
A child’s eyes brightened so much as she walked by me, her mother leaned in and said, “She thinks they’re for her!”
A young couple strode by. After they passed me, the man came up close behind me and nearly whispered, “Now that’s the way to do it.”
Many women—older, middle-aged, young—returned my smile a bit extra when they saw the colors I was holding.
A couple of old ladies in wheelchairs nodded appreciatively.
Several men tried not to look directly as they walked by.
( “But men bring the flowers,” I could almost hear them thinking.)
More nods and smiles. Men, women, a school-aged girl.
While I waited, I counted eighteen moments.
Eighteen people felt moved enough to respond to a little bit of color and aliveness in the grey, fluorescent-lit airport hallway.
We can coax aliveness, it seems.
So, dears? Bring flowers.
The world we share deserves it.