Lily of the Sidewalk

There's a petunia growing up at my apartment doorstep. I can't imagine that it just sprung up itself - someone must've planted it there, to see what would happen, maybe. But maybe petunia seeds really are that tough? Anyone out there with a horticulture background? So both Laurel and I took pictures... although you may notice that Laurel dramatized hers a bit more, since it was going to be a sermon illustration. I really like her angled shot with the parked cars in the background.

Here's the front step. With resident grill. There's a whole little row of green friends who have moved into the crack, there. This is my favorite little straggler:

I've always liked little green things that grow in strange places. Some trite symbol of hope or something, said the jaded seminary student. But in high school, I wrote a (terrible) poem about a little weed growing all by itself in a corner of a dark alley downtown. There is something so forsaken about those alleys - I still find myself stopping to stare into them and gawking at that empty, ugly, loneliness. Still the high school poem was dreadful, I'm sure - I have no idea what happened to it. I'm sure most high school kids feel like little weeds growing in forsaken alleyways. Hopefully my pictures aren't quite as cliche.