"When Your Petals Fall Away"

 

[Finally started reading A Game of Thrones not too long ago, and was reading it before making tonight's post. I think it put me in a certain mindset...] 

The girl behind the flower stall, who smelled as sweet as honey and smiled like a summer day, watched the old woman in the brown robe edge through the crowd, basket swinging from her arm like a chain, and head straight for the dark-haired man in velvet, the one the flower girl had thought was walking toward the tulips. "Care for something exotic for your kitchen, good sir?" the woman asked when she was in front of him.

The flower girl watched as the man peered first into the basket and then at the crone, his smile thin, his eyes narrowed in confusion. "Good woman," he said, "forgive me for being so frank, but those are the ugliest old roots I've ever seen."

"Not the first time I've heard that," said the crone, smiling, "but if you'll allow me a second, you'll see that those ugly old outsides hide a lovely inside." While the man looked on, she reached for a root and broke off one of its swollen branches. From behind her baskets, the flower girl saw the color of the root's flesh--a keen yellow, like that of autumn leaves--and caught its peppery scent. "A lovely inside," the woman repeated, "not to mention--absolutely delicious." She angled her smile at the man with a knowing nod. "If I may be so frank."

The man offered a chuckle and a large brass coin in exchange for one of the roots and departed without a second glance at the flower stall. "You must do well at the market with your wares," the flower girl said curtly to the old woman once the man was gone.

The woman turned to her with a smile so toothy that the plainness of it was hard to behold. "I do fair at market, yes," said the crone with a shrug. "But I do better afterward, with the men who want to know what else those ugly old outsides are hiding." She tossed the broken root at the flower girl, who caught it just before it struck her face. "Something to remember later, child, when your petals there all fall away." And with that, the old woman left, calling out to another man, "Care for something exotic, good sir?" while the flower girl cast her eyes downward and studied her roses.

"Closing Time"

 

"It just..." The butterfly heaved and sighed. It folded its wings together and then let them lay flat above its body in defeat. "It just feels like everything's changing so fast sometimes, you know? I mean, I know change is part of life, but..."

"Sweetie," the flower said, gently, "it's almost nighttime. You know the drill. You don't have go to the underside of that tree branch..."

"...but I can't stay here," the butterfly finished. It wished so badly that it could mistake the closing of the flower's petals, the brushing of those petals against its legs, for the start of some kind of embrace.

"Let's Be Friends Instead"

Disclaimer: These aren't really called red-spider flowers, nor do they "behave" the way the flowers in this piece do, nor were spiders even the first thing I thought of when I saw them the other day.

Every spring, the red-spider flowers climbed over each other for the privilege of falling. It was an honor to be the one to initiate that sense of wonder in people by falling down first or, failing that, to later catch someone's eye by falling down alone, poetically. The red-spider flowers were always quite vicious to each other, trying to crowd one another out even as buds, except for a day one April when two blossoms growing next to each other in a cluster decided that enough was enough; life was too short, especially for something as beautiful as a flower. And so, unnoticed among the red petal rain falling in the park that day, two flowers tangled their stems together and took a plunge in the name of friendship.

"The Crown Prince of Flowers and His Children"

 

As they grew, the young blooms turned away from the Crown Prince, preferring instead to face the window, as if they had eyes to behold the world, and what they saw with those eyes was a painting created specially for them. "Why do you want to bother with anything out there?" the Prince of Flowers scoffed from where he sat, high on a bookcase. "Our kingdom has everything we need." The kingdom encompassed the bookcase and the table below where the children were kept and included in its service a steward quite unlike the flowers who nevertheless knew when to bring them food and water. It was a fine place.

Yet the morning came when, before the Prince had opened his sleepy petals, the steward carried the Prince's offshoots outside, bringing them to a spot just on the other side of the window. It was so the young plants could grow up tall and straight, he heard the steward say. The Prince, being a proud plant, accepted this counsel with calm and stoic silence, even though it dismayed him. He thought of bees taming their hunger with the help of the young plants' pollen and ants climbing into the young plants' pots to make their tunnels among the roots. The Crown Prince of Flowers only wished to protect his children from the world outside, even if--and this he knew was true--that world was better with them as part of it.

"Bright Little Blossoms"

 

I think I noticed Dorelle and Keith at the reunion the same moment they noticed each other. Ten years after the last time we'd all been together in that gym, and there they were, looking at each other with new eyes and offering each other smiles that neither one would have had the chance to see the other wear before, given how things had gone in junior high.

It was like this: some trees start out in spring with a show of bright little blossoms, the kind with petals that curl under perfectly, the kind that make everyone who sees them feel lighter and happier. That was Dorelle. Then there are the trees that, instead of flowers, present buds at the tips of their branches, dull, difficult things all covered with scales. That was Keith, and he'd had terrible acne. Yet none of that mattered, not ten years later, when they both had had time to grow and flourish. You doing okay? I saw Dorelle mouth to Keith. I am, I really am. You? Keith said to her. And suddenly it felt like the end of summer, when no sounds were greater than the whispers between tree leaves, and everything was about to happen.