One, single flower. No more, no less.

Recently, in passing, I happened upon a rather remarkable sight.

A tree, upon which grew a single, beautiful flower.

I can't express exactly why this impressed me so, after seeing so many trees laden heavy with dozens of similar flowers; indistinguishable at casual glance.  But impress me it did.

And I couldn't help but wonder why; why should this one be different?


Perhaps he was merely the first.

Perhaps this flower simply couldn't wait any longer;
"Spring is here!" he cried, as he burst forth into an exuberant splendor, paving the way for all to follow; a child, running ahead along the path because he cannot wait to see what lies around the bend.

And maybe all the others will wait, cautious, watching to see what happens next.  And if they continue to wait, will they see him soon wither and die?  And if they do, will they themselves brave the journey?
Become a bright flash in the darkness, a speck of beauty momentarily gracing the world?

Or perhaps instead they simply say "Maybe next year", and continue on, existing, in that state of mediocrity that is hardly existing at all.  And in the end only one flower, of all the possible flowers, will have tasted freedom. Only one of many will have laid bare his soul for all to enjoy.

And perhaps that flower knows that it is worth any price,
no matter how large.


Or, maybe his friends have all already bloomed. Perhaps he is merely the last remaining of his generation, who have all wilted, and died, leaving him alone to wait out the end of his days, or hours, or minutes. He, the last of his peers, carrying with him the burden of his generation, which will, when the time comes, die along with him, lost to us forever.  I wonder, does he fear the end, or welcome it?

Or perhaps the tree is simply tired.  Year after year, producing miracles of nature, only for everyone to fly by, hardly noticing, on their own mad journeys from A to B.  Is it worth it, little tree?

Or is this your first flower?  A painstakingly crafted draft, a first novella, created with all of the bumbling love and attention that only a true novice understands?  Could it be simply that you are nervous about what others might think?  And when those around you show little appreciation, and more often than not can't be bothered to even cast a glance in your direction, will you give up?  Will your drive sputter and die, or will you press on in the face of adversity, creating your own beautiful forms for their own sake, and no more?

Or, then again, what if our friend tree is dying?  Perhaps, on the doorstep of infinity, he has only energy enough to eek out one final statement of life tor all to enjoy.  He chooses to send forth one final burst of energy, sacrificing his final moments for the sake of a single flower, that we all may have something to remember him by.

But I don't think so.

No, I choose to believe in another possibility.

For you see, I believe I have seen the most beautiful flower in the whole world.  Painstakingly crafted, at the expense of all others.  Lovingly created over the course of a season, to emerge only when the conditions are perfect.  Every molecule arranged with precision; every bit of life and breath expended for the sake of one, single flower.

...only to bloom in an out-of-the-way garden, on an out-of-the-way path, outside an out-of-the-way city, living an out-of-the-way existence.  The magnum opus of a professional flower-bearer.  The great work of an unknown artist, never to be fully appreciated as it should.

And yet, for having appreciated this secret gift, I shall count myself lucky, forever.

Thank you, little tree, for your beautiful flower.