Sunflowers are remarkable.
Young, growing sunflowers follow the sun’s path across the sky. It’s a behavior called heliotropism, which stems from the Greek words helios (sun) and tropos (turn).
During the day, cells on the east side of a sunflower’s stem lengthen and extend, causing the flower to bend and push the head westward to track the sun’s movement. At night, an internal circadian clock triggers the cells on the west side to lengthen and extend, swinging the flower head back toward the east in anticipation of the sunrise to come.
When a sunflower blooms and is fully mature, growth slows, and the head settles facing east, allowing it the advantage of the morning sun. Pollinators like bees are more active early in the day and prefer warmer flower heads. More pollinators mean more seeds, and more seeds increase the odds of a new generation of sunflowers the following year.
Sunflowers are remarkable.
They offer such a beautiful metaphor for living.
This world can be a very dark place.
But we have the ability to turn our faces toward the light. To stand and bask in the sun.
We turn to God, to hope, to that which warms our hearts and souls. Even on the cloudiest and bleakest of days, we can still seek out the light.
And we follow that light. We turn and follow that light all day long. We orient and reorient ourselves to it. We bend and extend. Over and over again. Small adjustments. Big moves. All day long. Chasing the light.
Until the night comes. Then we shift once again to prepare for the next sunrise.
We turn and grow, grow and turn, until, perhaps, one day we settle and stay, rooted in a position that keeps our gaze fixed on our morning sun. On God, on hope, on that which warms our hearts and souls.
Maybe we even offer seeds for those who come after us.
It’s a remarkable way to live.
Interested in object-based storytelling? My memoir, Piece by Piece: A Life Remembered through Things Lost, is available here. 📖💙
