I love their bright, cheery yellow and their soft black centres. I love the way they signify hope. I love the way they turn towards the sun always, turning their back to darkness. They never fail to make me smile.
I have always wanted at least one sunflower plant in my wee garden at home. I searched high and low for sunflower seeds, but never found any that were suitable for home use, till the Krishi Mela happened in Bangalore last year.
The seeds lay forgotten in a drawer in our house for long, and were accidentally discovered by the OH a couple of months ago. I planted some in some flower pots and kept watering them diligently. I was not really sure if I would really see the flowers growing in my home some day, but they did.
About a fortnight ago, we saw a sapling grow from one pot and go on to become taller and taller. I continued to care. A few days ago, we noticed two little buds on the sapling. One of them remains tightly closed, like a baby’s fist, while the other one continued to open bit by bit every day. Yesterday, it revealed a seedy centre and hints of yellow around the edges. Today, after years of patient waiting, we have a lovely little sunflower looking admiringly at the sun, in our balcony. It looks like a little sun in itself.
Like a spot of bright yellow after several days of cloudy, gray skies, the bloom brings us courage, hope and love. It is magic for us. The magic of nature.
I am reminded of Pia’s words –
When things don’t make much sense, when the news is a constant flow of abject misery, I look at sunflowers. Sunflowers make sense. Their orbs are filled with positive, yellow purpose; you can see why the world would need them. And you can see why a man who cut off his own ear, and later shot himself dead, needed to paint them. Sunflowers are made of hope.
I couldn’t agree more.