Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • My favorite flowers are wild ones. There’s something about the resilience, the effort, the divine planning that goes into their being that hardly phases anyone anymore. They’re outright about their beauty but so understated and standard that many forget exactly how immaculate the wild ones truly are; we’re too used to their appeal to even find them appealing anymore. We’ve placed them in a blind spot composed of our own devices — we do not see them, not because we’re not looking, but because we’re merely failing to recognize the beauty which sprouts in our own backyard. My favorite flowers are wild ones. There’s something in their color, something in their perfume, something in their stature that lets the rest of the earth know that they know exactly what they’re doing and they know they look damn fine doing it.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.