Except that it's in the middle of a bed of only pink ones.
It caught my eye and made me stop to look at it further. I double checked to make sure there weren't any other colors in the flower bed.
Nope.
It was the only one different from the others.
Now, I love me some orange--it's my favorite color.
And not the pale peach or burnt/rust colors--the vibrant, obnoxious orange. The one you can see from a distance. The one who does its own thing, not necessarily asking you to look at it, but doesn't mind if you do.
Which was fitting since that's what that orange flower is doing.
It is not ashamed of being different from the others. It's still growing tall and proud. It is not intimidated or insecure or even apologetic for its differences. It wears them proudly and doesn't allow itself to be overshadowed or cower from the others.
It stands proudly on it's own merit and doesn't let the sea of pinkness overshadow it or chase it out. It stretches up and lifts its face toward the sun, soaking in all that it has to offer and responding by unfurling its petals.
Don't we all want to be like that orange flower?
I know I do.
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