a silly story.

Day after day, he would wake up eat breakfast and go for a walk.  Then, he would return home to spend hours honing his craft.  Sometimes, he would visit art museums, the local farmer’s market, or he would go for a long nature walk.  It was there that he would find his inspirations.

One day, he was driving down the road, and he saw a truck hitched to a camper on the side of the road.  The truck was filled with watermelons.  He wasn’t sure why, but he began to slow down. All of a sudden, he knew that he had decided to buy a watermelon.  He wasn’t sure why, because he didn’t even really like watermelon.  Maybe it was because the old truck was a beautiful rusted ocean blue type of color.  Maybe it was the vibrant color of the watermelon.  Maybe it was the old man sitting beside it, spitting chew into an empty coca-cola bottle.  He wasn’t sure, but all of a sudden he found himself asking the old man how much a watermelon would cost.

He purchased the watermelon and turned to leave.  All of a sudden, something caught his eye. There in the camper, sitting in the window, was the most beautiful plant he had ever seen!  The plant was flower like in its appearance, and its petals were the colors of the desert.  Bright oranges, vibrant reds, and strange vivid blues all fused together seamlessly. The plant was more than beautiful, it was breathtaking, and each marvelous color seemed to tell a story.  Looking closer, he noticed that the root of the plant had the most complex etching all over it.  It almost looked like someone had whittled tiny words all over it. All of as sudden, he know that this plant was more than a plant.  It was a story.
 An unwritten story, at that.

“It’s not for sale!”  Said the old man, reading his thoughts.  “But, I can sell you a seed. But only one.”

“I’ll take it!” exclaimed the potter.  Surely, it couldn’t be that hard to grow this beautiful plant. He almost felt light headed, thinking of a certain beautiful pot he could plant it in.

“I’ve had this plant for 6 years,” said the potter.  “It only blooms once a year, and make sure to write that date down, because it will bloom again on the same date each year. It will bloom and those beautiful petals you see will be out for 3 months.  Once the petals start to fall off, you have to cut the plant down – all the way down. If you don’t do that, the plant will never bloom again.

The plant must be watered 3 times a day.  Do it at breakfast lunch and dinner.  Use warm water.  You have to talk to it, too.  Don’t believe me?  Once it begins to grow, if you skip just one day, you will see it began to wilt.  The plant has to be in the sun when it’s sunny and in the dark when it’s dark.”

The old man paused.

“Its high maintenance,” he said, “Just like a woman.  Only better, because it can’t talk back.  Most importantly, once the plant blooms, you have to be very careful with it! Are you listening?

Listen up!  Continue to water the plant and talk to it.  Whatever you do, don’t push it over, drop it, or forget about it.  If you are careless with the plant when it blooms, it may never bloom again.  I was told that if you drop it or stop taking care of it, it can take many years of caring for it again to get it to bloom.  And it only produces one seed which happens during the 2^nd year.  So, make sure you understand.  This plant wants all of you.  It has to be taken care of.  If you are not willing to put in the hard work, then this plant isn’t for you.

The potter felt a little nervous.  He looked again at the plant again and forgot his nervousness.  “How much?” he said.

The old man named a high price.  The potter paid it.

6 years later, the potter still had his beautiful plant.  Everyday he watered her 3 times a day.  He talked to her.  He poured out his heart to her.  He really felt that she was listening.  Every year, she would bloom and it always captivated his heart.  He was always very careful with her.  Moving her carefully, making sure she was never too hot or too cold.  Visitors always noticed her, and he felt so proud of what he had accomplished.

One day, an old friend came to visit.  It was quite unexpected.  His old friend came into the house and they began to talk. Now, the plant had just begun to bloom, and this year she was extraordinarily beautiful.  All the years of care, love, tenderness and devotion were was evident in the plant and her petals.

However, after talking just a little, his friend began to poke fun at his plant.  For some reason, his friend seemed to have some kind of hatred towards his plant.  Feeling silly, he brushed it off and continued to talk with him.

Then, his old friend began to move towards his plant.  The old friend began to tell a story, using arm gestures and even sound effects.  The potter was still feeling nervous, but he started to become entranced at his story.  His old friend spun around the room, knocking down pottery and tearing down precious art work.  Spinning and spinning, it almost looked like a crazed sort of dance. The potter came out of his entrancement, but it was too late. His old friend lifted his plant and flung it against the wall.

The potter was speechless.  His plant…she was broken!  The pottery she was planted in was on the floor in a million tiny peaces…the earth she was planted in was still intact…but was slowly beginning to crumble.  What had just happened!  He had given her 6 years of care, always making sure every last need was met….and all of a sudden, and he would never see her bloom again!

Why had he become so entranced by his old friend?  Why had he let his old friend come so close to something so special to him?

Feeling like a fool, the potter watched as the petals began to fall off the plant. Slowly falling, dropping softly, quietly.  It was like she was crying out to him. Weeping. Crumbling to pieces right in front of him.

He looked at his old friend, and was enraged to see that he did not even care. 

“It’s just a dumb plant, dude.  Go buy another one. What’s the big deal? “

The potter looked at him and said, “She was more than just a plant.”

His old friend looked at him, unfazed.  “A plant is a plant.  What about the pottery and artwork I broke?  You don’t care about that, and that’s worth actual money.  Now you’re upset about a stupid plant.  I don’t get it. You’re mad at me for breaking a PLANT?  You can buy another plant anywhere.  It’s not like their extinct.”

The potter looked at him sadly.  “I could find another plant.  I even have another seed. But, she was more than a plant to me. She was a story that I helped to write.  

And now, she’s gone.  And even though I may get her back, I don’t know if she will ever bloom the same way again.”

Defeated, he turned away.  When he turned back around, his old friend was gone. He knew he would never see him again.  He didn’t care.

He looked around at his broken pottery and artwork.  How could he not know that this would happen, especially when he saw the careless way his old friend acted?  And wasn’t he, the potter, careless as well?  If he only acted sooner, he would have saved his plant! 

Maybe, there was still a chance.  If only….

Would it be too late?

He cleaned up the mess, but left the plant where it was.  Looking down at it, he tenderly picked it up.  He cleaned the dirt from the branches and around the roots.  He picked the petals up off the floor.  Even in pieces, his beloved plant was beautiful.

The next day, he came back to look at his plant.  Her petals were withered and her branches were beginning to rot.  With determination, he knew that he had to at least try to fix her.  He remembered that the old man said that it could take years of constant dedication, but even still she may not bloom again.  However, he did not hesitate.  He would do anything to fix what meant so much to him.

1 year passed.  2 years passed.  6 years passed.  7 years passed.  10 years passed.  Still, there was nothing.  Oh, she was alive. But she still had not bloomed. 

The years continued to pass. The potter rose every morning, ate breakfast and went for a walk.  He still spent hours honing his craft.  By this time, he was a renowned potter and took commissions from all over the world.

Still, he had not given up on his beloved plant.

He would never forget her original beauty, and the remembrance at what used to be only fueled him. 

He would never give up on her.

He would rewrite her story and give her a new beginning- and this time, he would make sure that her story would never end.

Many years later, the potter woke up to rays of light flashing on his face.  Red, violet, and yellow hues – they almost blinded him.  Slowly, he sat up and looked towards his plant.

She was even more beautiful than she was before.