The Flower Girl

​The Flower Girl

She got tired for awhile; no, that's not quite it. She started out tired.
It took her decades to get rested up. Her weariness came over her the
minute she woke up, everyday like fog off the ocean. One day she
named her fatigue and gave it back to the night. Without fatigue fear
flooded the yawning space. Once she put a name to it, she sent it to
school as it lacked manners and clarity, worse civility. It was all arms
swinging, legs kicking and mouth smacking. She taught it
to keep its mouth shut and its delusional appendages to itself.

With so much freedom from this ill-mannered bully, she got side-tracked
with grandiosity. Now I can conquer the world, she thought. But even
before she could translate the thought to words, Wisdom arched its
brow. "The world has already been conquered," it said. "You might want
to pick a bouquet of flowers and deliver them to a friend." Which is
exactly what she did. But first she took a long, cleansing look at them
herself. It is no small thing to be schooled by flowers.