Folded. Yes, folded. They bend and score and twist and press, but I will not be made as they. Not for a day. No, not a day.
Opened. Yes, opened. All flowers must bloom, petals unfurling to take in the sun. The butterflies will come. Yes, they will come.
Beautiful. Yes, beautiful. This world of colour and texture and light and sound. It’s magical when you look. Folded? No, not I.
Forgotten to Bloom
Every morning the flowers in the meadow raised their heads. I watched them from the riverbank as a scirocco licked my bare legs and arms, the birds and the bees, too.
Summer lasted longer than normal; each new year the same. Still the flowers clasped shut unwilling to colourise my little corner of the planet. Still I waited. We all waited.
The first snows of a late winter happened overnight. I stepped out into a world of freckled frosts and individual snowflakes. The flowers, at last, cold and confused, had bloomed.
They died the same day as confused by man’s earth as us all.
They attacked with banging guns and booming rockets, an unnecessary commotion, striking as though we were leaves on an autumn tree awaiting winter winds. Perhaps we were in our russet way?
Fall, some called it, the time when one generation made room for the next. Whether or not the giant oak wished it, all it had nurtured, its beloved children, were expunged.
We fell tumbling to the ground in swamped screams. They heard us though. Everyone heard us. And like the tree that bore us, our country, we’d be reborn. For leaves die in silence but their rustling echoes forever.
Another page in life’s book
Flipped by celestial fingers.
This uncontrollable fate
Closed to the past.
Whilst still I might bear it
A new year pulses
Behind these eyes.
For I’ll never see you…
This indigo sky
Burning out a fantasy
Of how it could be
50 Word Stories – Outfoxed
“Did you see that fox watching the chickens?”
“He was licking his lips.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say? He could ruin us, you know!”
“Oh, do explain.”
“What do you mean, he’s full?”
“I fed him dad’s dinner an hour ago.”