I was a late bloomer. It’s a term that is mostly used for flowers today. Way back when, children who didn’t seem to grow as quickly as their peers were often called „late bloomers“. I struggled to read. I sucked my thumb until I was in third grade. I clung to my Mother.
My garden is sprinkled with yellow sundrops, a flower that blooms early in the summer. Before opening, they show their red encasement. Going from red to yellow is a beautiful metamorphosis. Most are now gone, yet as I dashed by my garden last week, I noticed one. This one.
The flower still was still encased in red. This little guy was all alone and had not yet opened. Most of his brothers and sisters were long gone. I was pulled back into my early childhood looking at this solitary little flower. The feelings of being scared at…
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