Sure we can follow the local cultural preferences of society without asking questions. We can tow the line of convention, tradition and repetition. We can box ourselves in, adhere to concrete angles, lines and ideas. We can just keep doing what we have always been doing. We can walk through life with our eyes at a fixed level, never looking up, never looking down. We can anaesthetise ourselves into a comfortable, soulless slumber.
Or we can plant a Wild Flower Meadow.
We can shackle ourselves to a cyclic toil of cutting and edging, cutting and edging, cutting and edging. We can settle for green, and slightly duller green. We can stress about bare patches, weeds and bindi’s. We can suffocate potential, muzzle the bees and ignore the insects and birds. We can make do with a barren vista, a uniform scene.
Or we can plant a Wild Flower Meadow.
We can be scared of mess, frightened of the unknown. We can be unnerved by surprises, refusing to let go of the predictable. We can extend our carpets outside over nature as if we are rolling out the roads of our power, the roads of our rule, the roads of our...progress? We can suffocate beauty, we can pretend that we know best and creativity cannot exceed our own pre-registered experience. We can put a lid on things, contain then, build a zoo, erect a fence. Imprison ourselves in middle class luxury.
Or we can plant a Wild Flower Meadow.
We can reign in the reckless, stand in a line, whisper about logistics and confine ourselves to the scales of sheet music. We can package our time and write up a schedule. Book ourselves up and stitch ourselves to the screens. We can turn up the volume of peripheral titillation and mute the beating heart within.
Or we can plant a Wild Flower Meadow.
It’s time to run free, and to keep running. It’s time to jump and time to splash. It’s time to get messy and dirty and tired and sore. It’s time to embrace the unexpected. Breathe life into the dormant. It’s time to watch. It’s time to learn.
It’s time to plant a Wild Flower Meadow.