Why I Post My Writing on the Internet

I went for a drive, and somewhere along the dusty road, a single purple flower grew from rocky edges. I was going so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it. There was no room to turn around. Even less time. How, I wonder, do I live more slowly? How do I give myself enough time to get out of the car and count petals strong enough to thrive between loose soil and sharp cracks? How do I let things I normally pass by become things that change me? How do I wave down others along the way, point to blooming life, ask earnestly, “Do you see magic, too?”