At the end of a rainbow

Lucy found her diamond sky

A plucked rose

on December 21, 2011

It was her paradise. Her sacred space simply called by others a garden. Every day she would spend precious time of dialogue with life inherent in the leaves that uncurled with the warm sunshine as if stretching out to embrace the earth. The wet earth reminded her of some sweet unknown past. Even the dried leaves graciously fluttered down on ground as if they knew, “ Dust Thou Art, and Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return..”. She felt the fine tendrils of the creeper entwine against the trunk of the tree, the tiny snails trudging along the branches and the lovely blossoms bursting with vitality. Passing strangers could not help steal a curious glance at the shabbily dressed girl smiling serenely at her plants. “Freak…” they would murmur and walk away. Yet for all their disparaging looks they could not resist admiring the scarlet red roses blooming in her garden. She would not pluck any of the flowers for in her eyes it seemed as heinous a crime as molesting a child. The buds swayed gently in the wind as if affirming her thoughts. The next day however her rose was not smiling back at her. It had been nipped by some vile creature and the branches as if hung their heads in sorrow and shame. She fought back her tears and went to water the plants as usual. She mourned not for the plucked rose but for the person who was heartless enough to end a life before it could bloom.


One response to “A plucked rose

  1. N says:

    What a gorgeous photograph.

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