On Tenderness; A daisy.

The alluring scent of more or less seventy flowers clouds the nose. It’s despicable to think of this moment as a mere sight of several blossoms. It’s insufficient as far as appreciation of nature is concerned. The moment is reckoned as utter bliss. The pure involvement of standing in that existence is paradise. If you close your eyes, the whistling wind will wrap warmth on your naked arms instead of the usual chill. It’s intoxicating yet enthralling that your arms will subconsciously lead your fingers to soothe the petals of the many flowers. Petting the soft white of the daisy twirling before you will make you wonder how they chose their color and form. The finely distributed white shades curve each petal subsequently that the soft yellow pollens are trapped almost in fascination amidst them.

If you warmly tip your index finger on every other petal, you will begin to speculate at such artistry. I wonder if your tenderness will be due to the texture of the daisy or your fear for the possibility of “sloppily” harming it. Perhaps, at a mere glance, you’ve developed a profound concern for the singular daisy next to you in the vast garden. Could it be a subconscious hope that the daisy, too, senses and reciprocates the tenderness of the moment? Do you find yourself pondering if protection demands sympathetic tenderness or worrisome vigilance? Does true security arise from feeling fenced and guarded, or from affectionate care that fosters warmth and comfort?

You sink at the thought and squat, burden forming at the bend of your knees and ankles. Ultimately, you decide to sit down, next to the daisy. You inch your body frame so that your nose gently touches one of the petals. The wind hoots once more and the sun rays beam, gleaming the flowers like a blessing.

Fending with the intention of protecting is comparable to caging.

If you find gratification in enclosing a tender daisy, it could be that to some degree it is even extends beyond the roots of the flower. Sometimes, it might not even be about the daisy at all which is why I ask; Is it possible that, deep down, you yearn to be appeased in a similar manner? If you sit long enough, the yellow pollens of the daisy will splash, filling the air around you with a scent. The fear lingers that, in the guise of protection, you might unconsciously be restricting the daisy. Naturally, the daisy might shrink.

However, if tenderly soothed, the daisy would organically flourish, from the comfort and security of the protection. Tender protection nourishes, fending protection ridicules and stunts.

In the same moment of insight, you comprehend that tenderness could be unknown to one that hasn’t ever been soothed before. The small firm stems sway in unison at the blowing wind and still, it strikes you that it isn’t about the learning of it.

The daisy hasn’t been taught to appear soft, it just does. Because of a trust embedded unconsciously in the daisy, the petals solely hold onto, trusting without knowing if the stem is capable. The innocence of the petals creates the urgency for the stem to protect. From the comfort and security derived from the stable tenderness of the stem, the petals exist short of any knowing. Not even for the uncertain unraveling of the winds or ruthless fellow earth inhabitants. That impeccable trust leads to a becoming of an impenetrable reliance and alliance. A sense of protection that hails from sheer gentleness.

perhaps love