There lived amongst the sandy marshes of the island plains a turquoise flower of the most exquisite design. The fair flower contained within its bright bloom a rich golden pistil, the envy of all the flora around. Her striped petals of blue and black caught the eye of many a passerby. Oh, how the flower hoped the perfect traveler would pluck her up from the dismal sandy marshes from which her roots sprung forth.
“To see the world would be a grand adventure indeed,” said the fair flower. “Oh no… no…no,” replied the plain daisy by her side. “'Tis nothing so sweet as the ground beneath my feet.”
“How plain indeed remarked the rare flower, her blue petals spread wide to embrace the warmth of the sun.
“You will find, dear one, that no soil like your home will make you smell as sweet,” said the lily.
“Neither soil nor smell matter to one such as me,” replied the turquoise flower. “'Tis the wind, the sun, and the noise of a street that I seek.”
The daisy and lily ruffled their petals in dismay.
By chance, a young girl walked by the wayside and found the flowers in full bloom. She stooped down to the turquoise flower.
“Oh! Hello,” said the happy flower. The young girl smiled and grabbed hold of the turquoise by the stem.
“Ouch!” remarked the flower as she was plucked up from the ground in which she was made.
“'Tis hurt more than I thought,” the flower said as she was whisked away. The faces of the daisy and lily quite sad, but no matter, for the turquoise was now free to scamper.
Long gone were the sandy marshes and plains full of daisies. The young girl traveled by train to a terrain far more dismal than the turquoise had imagined. No sun, no wind, no sound of a street. The poor turquoise withered. What kind of company could she keep?
“'Tis misery I wished for. 'Tis misery I have found,” she said, her tiny petals now droopy and black. The poor turquoise closed her bloom, hiding her golden pistil beneath.
“'Tis a sad flower,” she heard someone say.
“It needs good soil and a turn of the sun,” another replied. The wilted flower lay weak and torn until an unknown traveler put her to bed in fresh dirt and water. Over time, the flower’s petals plumped back up but her new home she found damp and bleak.
“'Tis not the wind, sun, and sound of a street that I seek. But ‘tis the warm sandy soil and the plains of the daisies that will restore me,” she remarked to the cactus by her side.
“You will have a hard time finding that sandy soil once more,” replied the cactus. “Best you make do with what you have now, flower.”
The turquoise flower now nearing the end of her cycle said, “As long as I am living, I will not stop dreaming of the land of plains and sandy marshes.” And with that, she closed her bloom and welcomed the cold sleep that winter brings.
As a turn of events, the slumbering turquoise would sit next to a traveler who took an extra interest in this almost dead flower. When the time came for the turquoise to wake, she found herself on a new adventure.
“'Tis sandy soil beneath my feet and oh how it is sweet!” She found many a daisy and lily within reach.
“'Tis the sandy marshes?” the turquoise flower could not believe.
“Not so my sweet flower but it is the traveler’s garden,” replied a lily closest to her side. Before the rare turquoise flower, a bounty of beauty and grace did appear. Every kind of flower spread forth in bloom, a garden for the once doomed.
“To whom shall I show my gratitude?” asked the fair flower.
‘Tis the traveler who takes great pleasure in his work and has restored you to your intended beauty,” said the lily.
“Who is this traveler that does pleasure in restoring what was lost?” asked the turquoise flower.
“He is the gardener.”
“A mighty friend and wise creature this gardener must be to restore my beauty and my glee,” said the turquoise most happily.
“Indeed. No better friend can be found than he,” remarked the beautiful lily.
At that, the turquoise flower opened her bloom, her golden pistil shot forth for all to see.
‘Tis not the sandy marshes or the plains of the daisies that she did reside, but a new garden in which blossomed forth the fruits of labor birthed out of hope.