Today I am sitting with the cosmos. It is the eve of their impending demise and we have much to catch up on before they slip away. For months, I have been watchful of their progress. After a few moments of greeting pleasantries, I ask them how they have been and then listen quietly as they begin.
They say it has been a lovely summer and they have many things to share with me. They tell me how the breeze has been particularly kind to them this morning. And so they gently sway in thankful appreciation. They tell me of how the sun has been leaning down to kiss their face. And so they use their petals to reflect its radiant warm love. They tell me of the months filled with visiting bees, who have brought them gifts of pollen, helping them be more abundant than they could be on their own. And so they open wide their blossoms to share their pollen and help others bloom as well. They tell me how the soil has cared for their physical needs, giving them just the right nutrients. And so they stand strongly rooted, in an interlacing of hands holding fast to their faithful provider. They tell me of the rain and dew bringing them drink when they are thirsty. And so they stretch their tendril fingers upward in a stance ready to receive. And then they whisper thank you to me, their gardener, for planting them.
I sit quietly in this honor of thankfulness they have bestowed on me. I sat with them today in hopes that our conversation and pleasantries will help them go gently. They do not know that today is their last. Tonight while they are sleeping, I know the killer comes! She will rake her icy jagged hand across them and they will be no more. Cosmos are annual flowers, not perennials, so they will not return. This season, and it alone, is the time that they have been given.
I hope that when my final day comes, I can be as the cosmos. That when the killer finds me, her icy hand would be left scarred by the strike. That the warmth of my appreciation, my reflection of love, my willingness to share to help others grow, and my strong rootedness to my provider would leave the killer damaged for her transaction! And as I breathe my last, may that breath find me with fingers reaching upward in a stance ready to receive as I thank my Gardener for planting me.
I continue to sit in this sacred silence, watching them wave in the wind. They are no better off for this conversation. They are cosmos, and just by being cosmos they are honoring their gardener. Yet I am better for this exchange. Whenever that day comes, may it find me like the cosmos.