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!