Never wait too long…

Uprooted

Misplaced

The spade digging deep into her flesh

She was found there, mangled, battered, her flesh seers as the heat probed deep into her wounds

He wandered by and saw past the mangled outer casing that held a small resemblance of a life that was once inside her

He picked her up, healed her wounds with wisdom and kindness. Or was it pity? Did he know she had once stood proud and beautiful in a field of many? Did he feel embarrassment for the pathetic, worthless existence she must now feel as she lay there in a box, mangled…..broken….bleeding?

He stayed there, checking in on her, giving her the nourishment she needed to survive the winter. The water, the words, tender touches she felt as he glared at her in pity.

Was his goal the challenge? Did he feel he had been given a challenge that, if completed, he would be a better person. He then could walk proud among the many? If he could make her grow once more, then he shall be blessed by the Gods and grow himself into the Master of the garden.

Spring arrived and into summer. She had been used to staying there in the box, looking at him from a distance, waiting to see what each day would bring. Finding any happiness she cold in her surrounding and secretly desiring only him the entire time.

He slowly covered her with soil. She did not understand that it was for her own good. All she could see was his face, his words, his love fading slowly as she was covered, smothered with the very thing, the only thing that could give her life. He had no choice. She would not live exposed. Each day it became heavier, the dirt upon her body, covering her like a corpse in a shallow grave.

Until there was nothing left. She opened her eyes and saw nothing. She strained to hear and there was only silence. Being buried by him was not her concern, he was. Was he OK? She lay there in her dark grave and wondered where he was, what was he doing, did he think of her, did he miss her as much as she missed him, did it hurt him to do this to her, did he know that she had fallen in love with him, as wrong as it might have been. Did he know? Did he care?

Then he too tossed her away. Not as the others. His intention was to be gentle, to help, to allow her to strengthen her roots until she was able to stand on her own.

She did, she grew, once more she became one among many, and by Spring there she was, standing tall, forgetting the struggle, the strength it took to break ground, to face the sun again, to live. And she was beautiful again. She stood there two seasons, hoping he would drop by and check on her. She waited. Even as the others crumbled around her, she waited, she knew he would come. He said he would never desert her. He would come. Just to hear his voice, sense his presence, know he cared, know he knew….how much she wanted him to hold her in his hands again.

One by one the others were gone. Some unseen force taking them slowly from her until she was left there completely alone. Still she waited. Windy days took her strength and energy. But she stood there, waiting. Then news from afar that contained his name. A story of her love, mending others on his journey to find the perfect one. One day, he opened his eyes and found her, his love, his one, his perfect flower in the field of many…..

It was not her

She fell in pain

There she remained the Broken Iris