The morning was cool but lovely. A coat was the only extra layer needed for a walk outdoors. I hopped out of my car at the trail head and began at a steady pace up the path. The month is February, and I live in Pennsylvania, but the weather and the plants can’t seem to decide what season it really is. Because of that, the snowdrops are up.
The little flowers start out looking similar to crocuses, but the flower is more like a lily of the valley—a single white flower hanging down like a bell or water drop. The poor bits of finery will probably not withstand the temperature plunge later, but they look pretty while they last. I had to pick some.
Two little flowers found their way into my coat zipper. I didn’t like the scent of the flowers, but I thought they must not smell very nice, that’s all. The flowers sort of smelled skunky. No mind, the flowers are pretty anyway. Five minutes into my walk, after passing many little bunches of snowdrops, I picked a few more. I sniffed those. Hmm. These did not smell skunky at all. I still didn’t like the scent, but it wasn’t bad.
Suddenly, I threw the first two flowers away. Ugg. Horrible. That first bunch of flowers had been recently sprayed by a skunk. Now my fingers stank. I tried cleaning them, but it didn’t work. A bit of vinegar and multiple hand-washings throughout the day finally removed the scent. But my car still smelled of the skunk when I remembered the flowers the next morning.
Things in life are often like the first flowers I picked. The first time I encounter something, it may seem off, but the problem is hard to spot. Later on, something more “normal” shows just how off the other thing is. The “off” thing may be seriously damaging in some way, or merely as annoying as stinky fingers. It is important to stay open to the possibility that the current thing is off and allow the realization to begin a change.
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