A Flower's View

Scattered patterns, a mosaic of rich humus, and golden colors braided with brown, dabbled in sunlight: this is where the flower lives that bows and nods in the breeze, remaining upright despite the elements that seem to conspire against her, yet in many ways are her friends. She has a lovely view from here, looking out from the rocky outcropping of her front porch to the sky and at the trees, big and tall, that tower over her little spot in the woods.

She sometimes gets a visitor. Her lovely guest with his brightly colored gossamer wings and tiny feet tickles her as he prances lightly around her head. The ferns sometimes lean over and nuzzle her and she tries to nuzzle back, but all too soon they move away and return to their position above her. Flower is mostly alone; other flowers of various colors and sizes grow nearby, but they are all so quiet, clutching their own little piece of the world.

Flower turns her face towards the sun, soaking up its warm rays. She loves her home here in this carpet of dried leaves, moss and grass. She feels joy in the wind. She absorbs love from life. She has such peace, such contentment, because all that she has to be is this flower, and she knows that. There is no striving to become what she never can - a bush, a tree, a snake, or a bird.

Sometimes she is paid a visit by a fawn who sniffs her, and she waits to be eaten, to be useful in some way to some other living creature. If that doesn't happen, or if she isn't trodden on by careless footsteps, she will return from where she came. She will display her lovely colors for awhile, for all who see her to enjoy, and then she will wither and fade and soon will drop to the forest floor, disappearing beneath the other plants and foliage that will use her abode in another season.