I'm not sure how this particular plant came to be. Perhaps a visitor to one of my bird feeders dropped a sunflower seed while in flight, or maybe the seed found its way into the soil after I scattered some bird feed on the ground for the squirrels.
Yet long after the rest of my sunflowers have been picked apart by the finches, a small and roguish sunflower opened up a few days ago. Its bright yellow petals greet me each cool fall morning as I walk to my car, and they reflect the late afternoon sun on the days I return home during daylight hours.
Sunup, sundown, sunflower.
There is an ill-formed idea bouncing around my head involving unexpected growth, the economy, and creative destruction, but I am just too tired to string it together, and my head hurts as well. Instead, I'll walk outside and stare at my solitary sunflower as a fall day winds down, and I'll just enjoy the moment, like I might with favorite appetizer recipes.
Sometimes it's better to experience the sublime than to try and recapture such a moment with words.