The Zen of Petunia

A small, inconspicuous green and purple seedling, no more than an inch high, just two tuning fork-like leaves, standing all alone on a barren hillside, surrounded by thin soil and grass, not even a tree.

　　Petunia! I recognized it immediately from my childhood memories. I grew up in a campus full of flowers: cockscomb, henna, mines ...... and it is the beloved trumpet flower. The first time I saw it was when I was in the mountains, and I hadn't seen it for a long time. I carefully dug it up and cherished it home.

　　The weather at the end of April is not hot, but the two or three miles of hillside road also made us sweaty. Halfway up the hill, the seedlings drooped their leaves and even their stalks were gone. We hurried home and soaked the roots in a dish with a ray of hope. After about an hour or so, the two small leaves actually stood up again!

　　Happily, I planted it in the pot and watered it well. The little guy didn't get down, a few days later a tender little tip emerged between the two leaves, and then it was almost like "see the wind and grow" - today it peeks, tomorrow it waved, and the little shoot opened its two little wings and worked its way up and up. The small pointed head also naturally circled back and forth, as if by an invisible finger around the same. I inserted a small bamboo strip in the pot, and two or three days later, it was already holding a bright green spiral on the strip.

　　Our pot sat on the windowsill, with the little bamboo branch pointing out the window to the iron fence. The little petunia soon climbed up the fence around the bamboo branch. Almost every day it improved: the vines scampered higher and higher, the leaves spread brighter and brighter, and the graceful figure was already beautiful.

　　This little creature, in addition to seeing the wind and looking back and forth, is armed with dense fuzz at the tips of its vigorous shoots: from the back of the leaves to the outer skin of the young stems have fine white fuzz - as if it had learned the effects of friction in its mother's womb, catching the climbers and sticking firmly to them.

　　I have to poke its direction almost every day, so that it can be coiled according to my intention. Once, I accidentally broke the thick and tender main stem while plucking, and some white pulp immediately emerged from the wound - like a person bleeding. I rushed to reset it, so heartbroken, so remorseful, so helpless! I don't want the little petunia to have a third trick - the magical regeneration function - the next day to see, the wound has healed into an enlarged section, it, still head, holding the long green vine behind the green vine, climbing hard.

　　Soon, the leaves on the vine also showed themselves: leaf buds and flower buds emerged from the axils of the leaves. But the buds have been drawn into the new vine, the flower buds but one by one withered. Check the book to know: "the first batch of buds are not open" - it turns out to be a normal phenomenon. I think that the leaves and vines are not all for the flowers; flowers and fruits are not all for the seeds. No wonder petunia to be cautious - the flowering thing, the succession, the original is not sloppy.

　　Sure enough, a few days later, early in the morning to open the curtains, a glance will be glimpsed a lake blue trumpet. Since it opened into the first, since then it has repeatedly opened into, soon entered the heyday - every morning there will be a dozen or so delicate trumpets bathed in morning dew together with open. The corolla is silky thin and beautiful, glittering with a bright lake blue; the leaves are velvety thick and smooth, with vivid green wings. The tiny petunias rendered their incomparable "power of life" on the window bars of my house; the morning breeze was gentle, and the quiet living area seemed to reverberate with a pleasant morning tune.

　　I can't help but sigh with emotion: life is a kind of fate - if it doesn't meet me, if I can't recognize it - why can't I look forward to it?

　　Life is a heritage - if it does not have the genetic code of coiling, adhesion, regeneration - why can not continue?

　　Life is a kind of perfection - if the flowers are not as beautiful as silk, the leaves are not as smooth as velvet - why can't it be realized?

　　When I think of Petunia's feat of resurrecting a broken branch, I can't help but feel stifled by the potential of life.

　　Friend, when you are disappointed, when you are frustrated, please think about this little petunia! You can definitely make your own!