TCU's Flowerbed

On a crisp 75 degree Fahrenheit morning in early September, the sun begins its ascent over Tandy Hall on TCU’s campus. The sky is illuminated with a blazing yellow hue. The rays peer through the gaps of the trees and organization signs that line the sidewalk as they guide wide-eyed freshmen towards their first classes. In the path of the route lies the picturesque flowerbed recognized by every student on campus. It has become the basis for meeting, gathering, and beginning of walks around campus. The flowerbed is subjected to a copious amount of pictures taken mindlessly by students to post on social media, boasting the eloquence of their home. I, for one, cannot say I am any different. By year four of strolling past, I’ve become numb to this flora, so I came to investigate why it receives such distinction.

The entirely of the garden is shaped to a perfect circle held by a multicolored stone base. The earth tones are more reminiscent of withering rock rather than a landscaper’s first choice. In the foreground, evident at every angle, awkwardly stands an iconic TCU garbage can. Pebbles molded together surround the cylindrical shape, hiding the dull scrap of metal the lies beneath. The brown, triangular lid on top is pristine, obviously cleaned daily, yet it remains as a reminder of the human footprint, ultimately muddling the harmonious flowers’ display.

Today’s bed contains an even mixture of rose pink and white flowers. They bloom from each plant that rises a foot from the soil. The stems are thinner than my own finger, bending under the weight at the top. Two groups of leaves protrude from the plants, a small cluster growing half way up the stem with another, larger conglomerate forming near the apex. Eight well-defined veins on each leaf emit a lighter green than the rest. They symmetrically jut out from the center-vertical line seeming the define the left and right side. The leaves hang over, either from the morning dew adding undue weight or from the lack of life they're suggesting. Yet, green still saturates the view of the entire ground. 

The leaves do their job, setting the stage for the blooming flowers to radiate vibrantly from their peak of the stem, fully encapsulating the moment. Yet, the petals do not. A batch of new stems sprout only to bloom leaflets no bigger than a fingernail. The five petals on each pedicel are young, too modest to garner any length attention. The colors, while bright, are overpowered by the greenness of the plant. From the distance, the sad garden looks uncared for with wild flowers overtaking valuable space in the soil. Around the sprinkler heads are dying plants drooping over, unable to fight against the constant ambush of water ricocheting off of them. They never stood a chance to survive, but did accomplish a greater good. Protected are the flowers directly behind them in this enactment of war. One hopes these poor blossoms will prevail and the others are just beginning their journey into adulthood or else this flowerbed, on the second week of school, is more than underwhelming.