The Flower

Mmm....story/prose/very short...The flower...she worries over nothing, she is taken care of...

The morning chilled, gusty, and promising - blissfully ignorant rested I, with the mere simplicity of just being; of traveling the meadows, tasting the world with the sight of my thirsting eyes…
…And yet, and yet,
…discontent, dissatisfied, only….still not aspiring beyond insipid observation, thinking all the while of none but myself…
…And yet, and yet,
….how blessed was I, in my maidenly selfishness, to absorb the earth’s splendor…
…And yet, and yet…
…I contemplated naught but lifeless, worthless, pointlessly inexplicable depths - permitting their inescapable limpness to trouble, torment, and probe my mind.

How, how…yes, how, could I forget the devoted worship nature so willingly bestows their Creator? - Never a thought as to the future – yet there lay my human view of a seemingly infinitely, endlessly, abyssal blackness of unknown future, warped and twisted.

Shameful scoundrel me! Wretch wallowing in her own self-inflicted, self-pity!

Here I, me, myself stole their beauty, wasted my attentions on them, for truly, my attentions were not only directed wrongly (for I should have acknowledged also the Mastermind behind nature’s trinkets), but also were they not focused and admiring as is true, as is not superficial.
I was too entirely consumed by the chaotic, absurd senselessness of my own acidic ramblings – ramblings over which I had no say, whose birth I’d not control, whose ultimate end I’d have no directing hand in – to take the faintest instant to notice the words of Almighty spoken, written, painted, sculpted in the form of a Universe teeming about me.

Quite nearly, was I lost to myself - to the confused tangle of mindless contemplation leading down a treacherous trail into nowhere; of scattered and menacing boulders, obstacles sharp and slicing; cliffs stretched towards the horizon, sheer and smooth surface of rock insurmountable…my destination dreary, drab, filth of worldly indulgence, of knowledge without wisdom, thought without coherence, life without living.

Then, but then…my gaze fell…upon….a flower - swayed in a breeze, a gentle, caressing breeze – the rushing sounds of wind traversing lush treetops of carpeted green; teasing, taunting the leaves rustling….singing each floweret a soft lullaby:

“Little lady , dear bloom sweet,
- Stem so fragile and slender -
Blessed am I to behold petals blushing -
Basking in your beauty tender.”

She (Flower) dwelt joyful, content, basking in every moment, yet never knew she what the next would bring forth…So satisfied to weather steely storm and glowing disk of flaming sun alike – never afraid of impending disaster or doom.

“Should it occur,” she says, “then so be it. If such does not, so be it. In all, it is, as it was meant to be.”

She praises her Maker when times flourish, and she praises her Maker when the same languish. She lives her life according to His will, beginning and ending, blooming and wilting, as He sees fit; expecting, anticipating that all culminates precisely as He has planned, thus never does she grow discontent.
Her existence stunningly intricate with her lack of pretense and the immensity of her wisdom – there is none as her, none so universally admired for meaning, fulfillment, and purpose.

Oh, how dearly I desire to exist as the flower.