We are walking along the coastal path. It is spring and all sorts of tiny, sweet flowers are blooming beside us. I take in the whole picture of spring life by the sea: the freshness of the day, scents of grass, flowers, and salt, the wealth of colour. It is deeply calming and complete. The scene is familiar to me and I enjoy it, of course. Then Nikola stops, picks one flower, and says, “Mum, this is for you.”
Only when he gave it to me did I begin to admire it on its own. That colour, those shades, those details… A common flower passed every spring suddenly entered the light of attention, and its uncommonness appeared. Can you see in the photograph the gradient from lighter to deeper purple? The shape of each petal, ending in lace like a fabulous dress? Each one will open in turn, changing colour and form, defining the look and function of the whole flower.
Why does nature bother with every one of these details? What are all the shades, shapes, and tiny features for? I know they arise without strain, entirely at ease. The maker shows off a design of staggering complexity and precision, yet one that yields to the flow of time. Nature is competing with nobody to produce the prettiest flower, and still it turns every one into a masterpiece.
I admire nature, I admire spring, and I admire that moment of recognising a natural principle: life is lived without force…
