Some Flowers Shouldn’t Be Picked

Some Flowers Shouldn’t Be Picked

A while ago a new flowering plant appeared in a neighboring garden. The leaves were a tangle of frond-looking leaves. The flower showed a Mediterranean color. It appeared to be affable and sensuous at the same time. As it waved in the breeze, one could almost hear it say, 

“Look at me I am pretty.”

Strangely, as quickly as it arrived, it went away. The gardener who brought it, took it away. The other flowers in the garden missed the newcomer, frequently asking the “why” question, since the new flower had made fast friends among the other plants. 

Suddenly the gardener returned the flower and placed it back in the garden. The plant grew healthy but eventually something happened. The gardener was ignoring the plant. The flower began to droop. It looked poorly. For some reason the gardener moved the plant to a different location that lacked what the flower needed to prosper. Early on the gardener had promised to feed, water and shelter the flower and had promised that the flower could be among relatives, but each of the promises were ignored. Instead the gardener demanded the flower get healthier, continue to grow. The more the gardener demanded, the sadder the flower became, and the more the flower drooped. The flower even lost appetite for enjoying the breeze, allowing the breeze to push it over instead of standing tall like it had. 

Up to this point I had thoughts of repotting the flower into my garden. I thought the flower would add nice color. Yet, as the flower became more and more sad and began to wilt, it seemed that the current garden was toxic to the flower. The dirt was poor, food was minimal, water was almost non-existent, and the shade was oppressive. 

Then I looked at my garden. It dawned on me that my garden wasn’t much better. I really couldn’t provide what the flower needed. 

The flower had been healthy and vibrant when first it arrived to the garden, so it was evident that it had thrived in the previous environment. The solution was to help the flower to return home. The gardener would raise hell but the gardener ought not to have transplanted the flower to a toxic environment. 

Under the cover of darkness the flower and I returned it to its previous garden. It soon returned to health. It was home and in contact with its family, its babies were sprouted and producing their own flowers, as well as new babies. It now stands tall in the breeze allowing it to touch its hair-like fronds, swaying seductively. 

I may visit from time to time, I’ll be sad because my garden will still be plain but I will be pleased at the same time because it is home and happy. 

My lesson? Just because the flower is attractive and pleasing to see and smell, and be observed, that doesn’t mean it should be picked. It may need to be somewhere else to be happy and that’s not my call.