For two years in the same spot, a sunflower seedling has appeared, never knowing the hand of man.
And for once, I have had the good sense not to pluck it out as a weed.
Like Jack’s beanstalk, the stem has grown thick and sturdy, trying to touch clouds and outshine the competition.
Its petals illuminate our patio as we dine and laugh and sing the praises of our day.
The willing beacon also cheers us down in occasional valleys we stumble across along the way.
Forever following its father in the sky, this gift from an unknown donor glows from above as we sit in the shadows.