Little Blue Flowers

A few weeks ago, we took a day-trip into the city to see the cherry blossoms. I’ve lived here all my life, but cannot recall ever making the pilgrimage to see the monuments framed by pink blooms. I packed lunch and the little stroller and we made our way in. I had planned to arrive early, start the morning with a walk beneath the blossoms, and have lunch in a museum before heading home.

I had a plan.

Instead we arrived late and managed only to make it into The Castle, which houses just a small sampling of what can be found in the other museums. We ate lunch at the wrong time. We were running behind schedule. Right around the when I had intended to head home, we were just barely beginning the trek toward the blossoms.

She wanted to walk and I didn’t want to discourage it, but it’s hard to get anywhere quickly with two little feet trudging behind you. She went along at her own pace, skipping then slowing, strolling then stopping. It’s a long walk down the mall for a just-three-year-old, especially for one who is absolutely fascinated by the blue flowers speckling the grass.

A man with a bike cart noticed us. He approached slowly and asked if we wanted a ride. “No, thank you,” I replied.

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s going to take a long time. You’re sure?”

In my eagerness to get to the main event, I wanted so much to hop into that little cart. However, between the expense and the blue flowers, I knew we had to walk. “I’m sure. Thank you.”

He must have thought I was crazy. There I was, a grown-up, with the opportunity to take charge of the situation. I had the chance to speed things along, but I opted to indulge in the enchantment of a three-year-old.

We did eventually make it to the cherry blossoms. We moved slowly. All because she had seen something I hadn’t. Those blue flowers. In my rushing and my planning, I had missed them. The cherry blossoms, though gorgeous, paled in comparison to the pure joy of a little girl lying nose to the ground, seeking those little bits of blue. Those sweet little pops of color sprinkled in the grass; each created; each perfectly designed. Tiny, yet captivating. Something I would usually traipse over, now a hint of Him in the middle of the city.