Last summer, I planted wildflowers. I hoped they would embody a carefree beauty, a disregard for convention. They would stand tall and unruly and refuse to line up in perfect order. They created a home for so many beautiful things. Until they fell. A miasma of colors, sideways, tangled. Punished for their hubris in attempting to reach the sky. Too bright, too heavy, too thin, too crowded. Roses never fall, they said. You should plant hydrangeas. Lilies. A stronger plant that knows its place. I won’t plant wildflowers this year. I can’t stand to be reminded, so achingly close, of how it feels to bend under an invisible weight, brushing the ground with my too heavy head. Margaret Wilson Margaret Wilson is a freelance writer and editor from Pennsylvania. Her writing focuses on nature, sustainability, food, and agriculture.