An Uprooted Flower

The rain drowned me under its force as I lay discarded on the muddy ground amongst the ferns.  Even they shivered.  Laden with water drops, they bent towards me, covering my petals and my stem from the rain.  I envied their roots in the ground, huddled together like families.  They weren’t like the one who carried me and dropped me here on his fleeting wind: He must have been an enemy from the start.  

What could I, a lonely flower do, but lay here and let the earth take me back, the way I had seen other flowers go.  The color fading in the petals until they shriveled and dropped completely when the cold swept in.  They almost always returned in the warm sunny days; it was the way of the seasons.  But my fate is to never return.  My stem is severed from my roots in the land and no amount of sunshine or water will bring those back.  When my petals fall, they will be gone forever.  I will wither homeless amongst these ferns.  One petal at a time.   

As I pondered the fading of my petals, the rain stopped and the dark clouds moved to make room for a bright expanse, shining down on me.  It blinded me, but I felt the calm warmth of it cover my drenched body:  It felt like an old friend.  At once, I realized I had forgotten about my friend, the sun.  I never said goodbye or told him I was leaving when I was plucked from my home beside that mountain road.  

I forgot about his warm hugs and selfless light.  But I remember now: He never tried to take me.  He was always by my side, always happy to shine his friendly light, while listening to my flower sighs.  I didn’t know he would find me.  I didn’t know I missed him so, until he said, “Hello.”  I poured out my heart to him like the rain, telling him of my taking and flying against the storm.  He stayed and listened all day long.  

When it was time for him to go, I cried a little and wished him well.  I knew I might not see him tomorrow or that I might not be around, but I told him I’d see him later.  Even if it is my last day, I know I will see him, because he was like the Spring in the garden.  Always beautiful and warm to me.  

*Hello readers! This is the second part to Picking a Flower, that I posted in September. Thanks for reading!*

Picking a Flower

I was once a flower resting in an untamed yard down beside the mountain road, when you picked me up.  You arrived on gusts of wind.  I couldn’t see your body through the morning mists, so I didn’t know to call you foe or friend.  The gush of air rippled through my soft petals and I thought I’d lost one, but you held me in your weightless hands and shielded me from the blast.  It was like warring air, you and the storm.  Colliding, falling, and rising again, until you landed me in a field of ferns.  

I fell softly against the mossy ground.  I lay there, unable to place myself inside it.  I could only watch the sky darken and hear the warning thunder of the storm stopping by.  I saw lightning crack against the great expanse, lighting my view in seconds of white.  The air grew denser and I waited for the slow pop of rainfall.  The trickling came and I limped under the precious cleansing.  Then the gift of the clouds erupted in thick heavy rainfall.  At once I felt like drowning beneath its weight.  I absorbed as much as a flower can, abandoned without roots in a land far from where I began. 


*Hello Readers!  I am starting to practice sharing pieces of a story at a time.  Let me know your thoughts.  Would you like to read more of this story?  Do you have any helpful critiques for the story so far? 

*Thank you for reading!