A walk in the woods this weekend evidenced the coming of Spring as life pushed through the pine needles and dead leaves. Trillium (Trillium grandiflorum) was blooming profusely, and its white flowers shone like diamonds on the dull earth.
The temptation is the reach for the budding beauties to take one home; however, as Wikipedia instructs, "Picking a trillium seriously injures the plant by preventing the leaf-like bracts from producing food for the next year. A plant takes many years to recover."
It's difficult for us to have self-control, isn't it? I've noticed people stopping alongside Pellissippi Parkway, the main road leading to my home, to pick armfuls of the gorgeous daffodils that bloom there. Though there are signs posted forbidding this behavior, they can't seem to resist. And it drives me crazy. I want to honk my horn and shout "Stop!" The daffodils are there to herald Spring to all passersby.
Yet, despite my irritation of their behavior, I can act in the same way. When I pull out a camera to capture a scene on film rather than just being in the moment and letting my heart capture it. When I feel compelled to write about an experience rather than just remaining present and letting it wash over me.
We want to capture the beauty, freeze the moment, and cling to the glory that passes before our eyes. If we could understand our place in it...not as onlooker, but as participant...and cherish it as a gift, then the beauty would still bloom in our hearts long after the petals have fallen.