It's spring in Bridgeport. This doesn't really much because there is too much concrete for flowers to grow
and the abandoned, decaying buildings
block out the sun.
But every once in awhile
a flower slips through the concrete
That one flower stands out more than it ever could
in a pretty,little garden behind the white picket fences
of the suburbs
Against all odds it fought it's way
through the cracks
In it's desolate environment
and bloomed
Roots grow when seeds crack
Flowers ( at least in this city ) bloom
when the concrete cracks
Beauty
in spite of
or perhaps
because of
the death and decay around it