Yesterday was my birthday. 31 times around the sun. Woah!
I wanted to write about a peculiar occurrence though -- not my birthday.
I decided I needed to get outside (a common need for me) and so I went to a little place called Riverside Park where there is an amphitheater and a playground and all that sort of good stuff. I went there to just be outside though and I usually go down this boat dock that leads to the river and a tunnel that empties into the Minnesota river. I stepped gingerly down the snowy/muddy cement (for real, I could have been sliding the whole way down if I had not been careful!).
As I got closer to the river I was stunned to find a gorgeous bouquet of flowers gracing the muddy banks. They weren't just supermarket flowers -- they were clearly arranged by a professional with blazes of orange, pink, white, red, yellow and light green mingled together. There were sunflowers, roses, carnations, lilies, etc. I picked them up gently and one of the small carnations rolled out. I set them back down and wondered at the prospect of these gorgeous flowers being here. Why would someone put them here? Was my husband hiding in the snowy tall grass? (Well, no, I knew that was impossible since he would have no way of knowing I'd be there and he didn't have a car). What could make someone abandon these glorious blooms to a muddy bank? I thought it over and although it was my birthday I felt certain in my heart these flowers weren't serendipitously waiting for me.
I thought of the time God prompted me to buy a rose for an older lady from my church I was going to help clean and pack things for her move -- I did -- and when I gave it to her she said, "Oh, thank you, it's my birthday!" However, this was not the same and I knew these were not my flowers. I wondered if they were some way of remembering a friend who had died (perhaps in the river?). I thought of my good friend Joi who passed on this last summer and it sent a chill through me. Could it be? I sat by the river on a rock watching the ice float by in the waters. It was so very strange. It just didn't make sense (or rather I didn't want it to because I wanted the flowers). So, even though I knew I shouldn't take the whole bouquet I reasoned to myself that I could just pick one. They weren't going to last forever anyway and I figured maybe they were kind of for me. I choose a vivid yellow sunflower wishing the gray skies gone. I held it in my hand admiringly and as I set my resolve I slowly climbed up the hill avoiding the mudslide.
As I climbed the bank I noticed a blue truck parked overlooking the river too and felt nervous that what I was doing was wrong and they might notice. However, as I trudged on Chris gave me a call and so I was distracted by answering it. A small young woman was sitting on the just on the outside edge of the drivers seat of her blue rusty truck and watching me. She had dark hair and a sullen look on her face. I set the sunflower on a picnic table as if to forfeit the prize as I talked to Chris and then when I was done with the call picked it up again and warily walked toward her and my car watching to see if I should ask her about the flowers. She watched me silently and then as I came closer she shut herself inside her car door. I couldn't help but feel that maybe she had put the flowers down there. If she had I was guilty and I knew it. If she hadn't maybe I was still guilty -- I don't know. Someone had apparently set them there for a reason but I thought I was above whatever that reason might be. Yes, it had just begun snowing and they'd be covered soon. Yet, even as I drove away with my rationalization I still felt guilt. I felt like maybe I had taken part of someone's memorial. So, even as I showed Chris the sunflower and put it in water I took it with in the car as we went out. I thought maybe I could return it. Well, I didn't. Perhaps it is too late but I dearly hope that young woman was only gawking at me slightly because a sunflower in mid March is unnatural and unexpected and not because I had taken something away from her.
No comments:
Post a Comment