During a long summer drought, on my way to work,

in a large field of dead grass, there grew a flower.

I stopped to admire it.

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A single bright blue flower with white lace at the heart.

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I could have cut and taken the flower. It was dying anyway.

But it seems when you love something, you want to see it grow.

So, silly as it may seem, once every week or so,

I stopped to water it from a jug I kept in the trunk.

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To cut and take the flower would have meant its end.

Instead, it grew, and grew,

and just before the winter came,

it bloomed.

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A dozen bright blue flowers spread a thousand seeds on the wind.

Then she was gone.

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Next year, there was no drought and blue flowers were growing everywhere.

Still, I never took one. I will never need to.

Since that day, years ago, that I paused to care for her,

We've Shared All the Many Flowers that We Grew.

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. . . . . . . . Happiness to you, and to all who you care for.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thomas Tamas Panto.

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