I planned for control,
planted smaller flowers and mellow vegetables—
safe, tame, and predictable.
Like the way I trick myself
into settling for less, in my life,
than the wildness I truly crave.

But those wildflowers—
they grew on their own,
surviving seasons
I didn’t tend to them.
They outlasted my doubts
and outgrew all my plans.

I almost pulled them from the ground,
dismissing their potential
for survival—
a plan that was just a way to get by,
hoping for the best.

Yet here they are:
a reminder to make space,
to trust what grows unseen.
Dreams, like wildflowers,
can seem untamed and inconvenient,
but they hold the beauty
and strength we need most.

Without them,
the cucumbers would have nothing to grasp,
the bees would leave,
and I’d miss the hundreds of blooms
that make it all worth it.