Streams of Comfort

I long for stability, but I have faulty roots.
The ground might be stable, but it’s my tangled vines that refuse to settle.
Long ago, an echo of where I was first planted
With overly wet rain and an unreliable sun.
I grew upwards and bloomed in spite,
Paid no mind to the rotting roots below.
Maybe I moved myself or was swept away
When the ground flooded with no sun to dry me.
I floated away with no real destination
Changes and shifts became my friends,
Forgetting the feeling of dirt.
Until I started to drown in the sea of my shell,
Water exercised its power,
Gently, slowly wiping me away,
My soft leaves were no match.
I was fading away when I remembered the earth.
Long forgotten, but still I pushed through the currents.
The tidal wave of my darkness.
Finally, I settled on a riverbank.
The moist sand, like a bed for my wilting leaves.
I couldn’t move, but the winds guided me to a haven.
Where other flowers stood tall and beautiful.
Ashamed and wet, I tried to hide myself,
Believing I could not compare.
In this foreign land, days melted into years.
The sun rarely stopped shining.
The gardener always watered me.
The winds tickled me and made me laugh.
I couldn’t see myself, but I was no longer wet.
The other flowers watched me,
Some even brushed beside me gently.
We endured long nights and waited anxiously for morning rain.
It always came.
I swayed and swayed.
Would have fallen aside, if not for the winds, the flowers, and the gardener.
Again, forgetting about the ground.
I long for stability, but I have faulty roots.
-Alice R, 9/10/22