The Tiny Flower

The Tiny Flower

I saw this tiny yellow flower in the grass there. It was really short but not like it had been mowed, more like it was just a tiny, whole, miniature plant. And I was just imagining when the little sprout came up and the grass saw it and started yelling and trying to squeeze it out like, “You can't grow here! We’re grass!”

Then the little sprout would be, “Please, please let me grow. I didn’t pick this place, my seed was dropped here by a big bird and I tried so hard to not fall here, but I fell so fast and there was wind, and I couldn’t help it. I won’t take up much room, I’m really small, even when I’m grown. And I promise, I’ll wait until a very windy day to release my seeds so they won’t fall here. Please, I won’t take up much room, I just want to live.”

And then the grass grumbled back and forth, “Let it live.” “No it’s bad for us!” “It promised to be good.” “How can we trust a weed like that?” and stuff. And finally they decided to give it a chance. And it grew just enough, while the grass stood over it to make sure it kept up its side of the bargain. And after a while the grass got protective, feeling this was their plant and when the mowers came by they would lean over it to protect it. And finally it produced its tiny yellow flower, and all the grass cheered and they all waited together and watched the weather so they could pick the perfect windy day to send the seeds over to the real garden.

So I wasn’t actually watching the net, which is how I got bonked with the tennis ball.