The Bloom

There.  At the crest of that hilltop.
At the place where the forest parts
Just enough to allow the sun to shine through.
Where the path ends.

There, once upon a time a garden grew.
Oh...it was a beautiful garden.
It wasn’t planned or carefully plotted.
The flowers grew with wild abandon,
Their seeds dropped by the fickle wind...
Carried aloft from somewhere
To land on this plot of ground
To take nourishment...to root...to grow.

One by one wanderers happened upon this place of magic.
They gasped at the first glimpse
Of their discovery...at the sheer beauty
Created by hands not human.
And...as is the way of man
Each sought to possess the magnificence
As if possession could prove creation.

One by one they came and harvested.
Some took handfuls of bouquets
Others...more enlightened
Took only a single bloom...
And only after long reflection.

As the north wind gathered its strength
To hurl winter upon this place,
A single flower bloomed and waited
For its destiny.

Finally, there appeared a young man.
Troubled, seeking solace on the wooded path.
Hungering for peace within...
For strength in his emotions...
For confidence in his actions...
For insight to his purpose.

He emerged from the woods and beheld the garden,
Its glory long ago carried away by others come before him.
Still, the single bloom called to him,

“Come, sit beside me...
Ask of me the question
Whose answer eludes you.
My brethren were here but to protect me
From all who came before
To tempt each with their beauty,
That I might remain...for you.”

The young man caressed the bloom,
Admired its beauty and harvested it gently
As one might lift a small child.
He beheld its magic
And gave in to the child within himself.

Moments passed...
The flower and the man communicating perfectly,
Each knowing the purpose of their exchange.
The bloom accepted its destiny gratefully.
As the young man recited the romantic’s rosary
It released its own soul
As it answered the young lover’s question
With three simple words...
“She loves me.”