The Scarborough Mirror

In this instance the item, a lonely, dusty plant growing in the most extreme conditions, caught my eye. It was and is where it should not be. Further, it is in constant danger of being yanked, much like an off-key vocalist competing in super star television contest.

The item of interest is a sunflower. One that looks more like a weed than a bloom and is overlooked. Especially considering where it is growing.

This poor bedraggled, stunned and malnourished flower is growing in a Kingston Road alley, tight against a building where there is little sunlight and less earth. Further, it is surrounded by debris.

It is stunted and must rely on deflected rain or a sprinkle from a dog or errant human for moisture. Yet it struggles on surrounded by enough trash and castoffs to fill a bin or two. Its only companions are a straggly dandelion, a few strands of resilient grass and weed.

How that sunflower came to be there is a mystery greater than trying to fathom the cost of a pint in the nearby Dog House/Morrison's. Was a patron munching on a bag of sunflower seeds and spat one out? Did a bird drop it or was it placed there by a sadistic human intent on testing its desire to live?

More importantly, how is it that it remains living and struggling toward maturity? Its colour is dull, a pale greenish yellow and its few petals are a sad tone.

In contrast, as if saying do not write me off, the flower is brown, the colour of polished shoes and every inch of it is healthy. Not bad when one must consider that the plant is barely two feet high, at least just a quarter of what it should be.

Recently I poured some water on it.

It needed more, but time and duty called. It was left to fend for itself.

As it happened, my wanderings did not lead me to that area for days and the plant had been forgotten.

Then thirst, a longing for stilted conversation chose my path and I again made contact with the sunflower. It had not faired well! It, if possible, was even more pale and washed out. The few petals clinging to its stem were limp, hanging like rags on an old hippie.

Yes, I gave it water and a few words of encouragement. Unfortunately a passing woman thought madness possessed me and quickly scurried through the laneway. Why is it talking to yourself is acceptable, commonplace to most and yet encouraging a struggling plant is considered mad?

In any case, the plant may have grown an inch or two in height. As for its flower, the seeds are ever so slowly maturing. In time and with luck these may be ready for harvest.

But, if so, will they be spread in that dusty, dirty lane? Or will some considerate soul harvest and plant them in a more suitable site? Could the birds be watching and waiting?

The worst scenario is that they will be roasted, salted and eaten as snacks. Then, and if so, the cycle may renew itself! I will let you know next spring.