The little cardboard carton had a yellow sticker afixed to its side, indicating a much-reduced price. The wilted shoots did not look hopeful. The bin of dying flowers was destined for the supermarket’s trash, yet amongst them there were plants… a cyclamen and a pot of miniature daffodils. The cut flowers were dying because they had been cut from their roots, disconnected from their source of life. The plants, however, were simply dying through lack of care.  For the price of a loaf of bread, I brought them home.


I fed, watered and trimmed them, gave them light and warmth. I talked to them too. It may or may not help the plants, but it helps me. It creates a connection by acknowledging their life and being… and through that connection comes a commitment to their care. After weeks of one-sided conversation, the cyclamen has answered and graces my desk with its pristine beauty bringing a touch of luxuriant frivolity to the day. It looks like a flock of white birds fluffing their feathers above the mottled leaves, or a bevy of cancan dancers showing their petticoats… and it is glorious.


The tiny daffodils have grown and opened their delicate petals to the sun. I spent a long time trying to get a decent picture of them, but the petals just caught the pale morning light, shining too brightly  to capture the details.  In the end, the flowers won, laughing back at me as I gave in and let them play with the light.

As I was taking them back to their place on the kitchen windowsill,  I wondered about the first day of spring. According to the weather, the calendar and our labelling of the vernal equinox, spring will not officially begin until the end of March here. Someone really ought to inform Mother Nature of that, as it seems She has it all wrong.


The sparrows are building nests and seeking mates in the guttering above the door, taunting the dog with their cheerful voices. There are green shoots emerging from the earth and tight buds appearing on the trees. Odd pockets of spring colour are already beginning in sheltered places. Even the days are lengthening, slowly but surely emerging from the midwinter darkness. Nature is impatient and growth is burgeoning all around; new life springing from her dark womb..

But we, who see Nature through the glass of our windows and cars more often than not, still call it winter. We huddle indoors, enduring the cold, waiting for a spring that has already begun. Through my window I saw the moon, sailing the morning sky above the rooftops. It was framed by the daffodils, suddenly no more than shadowy silhouettes; a colourless urban landscape that seems to have become disconnected from Nature.


We look at it… as through a window, but for much of the time we are far from feeling ourselves to be part of Nature. Yet her rhythm and cycles affect us just as much as any plant. Our moods change with her seasons, our bodies, minds and hearts respond to her moods and her ever-changing beauty. Not for nothing do we call her Mother.

I wonder if we are like the flowers dying in the supermarket bin? Have we lost our roots by cutting ourselves off from the rhythm of Nature and the source of our own life? Or are we the plants, struggling and only tenuously rooted in arid soil, yet needing only a little care to heal the damage? Maybe we just need to be on the other side of the glass.


About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email:
This entry was posted in earth, flowers, nature, Photography and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

31 Responses to Roots

  1. Olga says:

    Hi Sue. I was very moved by this. I’m happy that you saved those beauties from the trash bin. Totally feel the sentiment concerning humanity being disconnected to Nature. Love your voice. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Ritu says:

    Beautifully written Sue. I echo your sentiments about being disconnected from nature too!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. mihrank says:

    Sue – you have amazing talent and magic…impressive!!


  4. jenanita01 says:

    I was thinking along these lines only yesterday. A blackbird has begun to welcome the dawn just outside my window, singing his heart out before it is even daylight, and on the way back from the shops, I noticed all the green shoots appearing in the front gardens. All of these things meant hope was still alive and well, if somewhat bruised and battered. It would seem that Mother Nature is as keen as we are to pull up her socks!


  5. Sue an amazing talent you have and so beautiful are the beloved flowers. Mother nature is always so wonderful.


  6. TanGental says:

    That has to be the best rehoming story I’ve heard this year…


  7. I love how the flowers have thrived under your care 🙂


  8. adeleulnais says:

    Loved this post, Sue. I talk to my plants inside and out.


  9. What a savior and what heartwarming satisfaction to say those teeny beauties. You have a true green finger, Sue. Bless you. Your white and gold rewards look up at you with graceful, thankful blossoms. ❤ ❤


  10. paulandruss says:

    Lovely post Sue

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Widdershins says:

    My snow is slowly but surely melting. We are back to our usual rain. My winter is over. (picture me doing an Ani-sad-eyes impersonation) … Time to move the wellies and brolly to the front door and move my snow jacket and boots back into the seasonal wardrobe.


  12. The plants mightn’t be edible, but the food for thought you’ve given has many of us contemplating. My rhubarb has been growing since late December and daffodil stems are now budding. I’ve toyed with ‘what if’ thoughts about seasonal dates changing, the weather certainly is.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.