Some things need to grow up where they’ve been planted. Some plants, like people, just don’t like being moved. Yet at their own slow pace they sprout a half a foot away from roots that have wandered in the soil seeking nourishment and some stability. Or maybe just a gasp of adventure lives within the threads that reach out underneath the lawn.
So now they’re pouting. Droopy, wilting, mad. Refusing to turn their faces to the sun–and ignoring me completely in their grieving.
I speak gently to them, softly to support and give them hope: "Get over it," I say.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology