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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Garden Dear Jane, They will tell you a woman is a flower, as though her worth lives in the bloom, in how softly she opens, in how carefully she keeps her petals. I fear someone has plucked yours. One by one, until you looked down and wondered if there was enough of you left to still be called a flower. I fear they damaged the soil beneath you, pressed their weight into the earth, left you searching for the sun and wondering why you could no longer feel its warmth. But Jane, look around. You are still in the garden. There are flowers here without petals. Flowers bent toward the earth. Flowers blooming wildly. Flowers that have forgotten what spring feels like. Some are only stems. Still, the garden does not ask them to prove they are flowers. The bees will come and go. The butterflies will land and leave. Let them. A flower was never made beautiful because something chose to visit it. And autumn will come. We will lose petals. We will change color. We will lean into one another when the light begins leaving earlier. Some of us will bloom. Some of us will wither. Most of us will do both. But even a flower with nothing left to give still belongs to the earth. So if you cannot find the sun right now, Jane, borrow ours. There is room beside us for the woman you were, the woman you are, and whoever grows from here. You do not need your petals back to belong in this garden. You never left it. — Sofia Aronovsky
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