a flower more beautiful than any purebred or hybrid arose.
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| normally, a fuschia plant has many branches with at least two beautiful pink/purple flowers on it, dangling, teasing the hummingbirds. this particular plant was very strong, except for one branch with two worn blooms. one day during a windy storm this branch broke away from the rest of the plant and landed in a puddle of rainwater. it continued to thrive in solitude, both flowers bright in contrast to the dirt in which they lay. after a while, the water evaporated, was sucked into the plant, and all the sunlight went away, leaving the twig in an arid oblivion. without any type of life, the blooms begain to crumble, turning into fuschia dust, blown and scattered by the many breezes. the leaves soon wilted and cracked, but one leaf remained fresh. one warm morning, light flickered upon the withered branch, and a youthful hand picked up the forlorn thing. fingers ran across that leaf, now beginning to wrinkle, brown on the edges, and began to smooth away any signs of imperfection. the hand picked the leaf from its former home and buried it in the fuschia-stained soil. a flower more beautiful than any purebred or hybrid arose. |
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