The Tiny Yellow Flower
There is a tiny flower that grows, much to its own accord, in the small overgrown garden of a long forgotten little cottage. A cottage, who at one time had been a proud home, now stood empty, as it had for many of years. Old and weathered as time and the elements had made its mark on the small cottage. The small cottage had not always been empty, forgotten and uncared for. At one point there had been one. One who had the voice of a songbird, and the loving nature of the sun. One who had loved the cottage. Who had taken care of the cottage and all the tiny creatures who come to it, but life is not eternal and the one who had loved the cottage was not immorality. Life happens, and nobody or anything can stop it, and because of that reason, and others that may never be known, the one who had loved the cottage was no more. Not unlike how the season must pass, so did the one who loved the small cottage. Maybe too soon, too suddenly, but inevitably as it was, the one who had loved the small cottage was gone.
Not long after the one who had lived here, who had loved the little cottage, who had care for it, had unfortunately passed, others had come. Others who were friends of the one who had loved the little cottage and had taken care of the small garden, they came to the cottage to remember the one they had lost. They came with tears filling theirs eyes and their hearts crying out for the loss they had suffered. They, for a time, took care of the cottage, and the small garden, and the animals who used to stay there, not as well as the one who had loved the small cottage, but they tried. With all their grief and love, they tried. Then slowly things changed. There were less tears from the friends of the one who had loved the cottage. With each time they came their sadness change. After some time they came with smile instead of tears as they remember the joy the one who had loved the small cottage had brought them and many others. Sometimes there would even be laughter as they shared stories of the one who had loved the cottage, and for a very short moment it would be as though the one who had loved the small cottage was there, but that time was fleeting, never lasted long. Most of the time it they would just be soles as they recounted story over and over again. Then the animal stopped coming to the cottage, without the one who loved it there, there was no reason. The friends of the one who loved it stop coming too. Life moved on, and the friends of the one who had loved the cottage had to move on too. Their life continue forward, though they loved their lost friend, the one who had loved the small cottage, they too had to move on, or risk fading away, having life forget them as it did with the small cottage, and so they too stopped coming. Not all at once, but one by one they stopped until there was only one. The one with the rainbow hair would come. Sometime it would be very long between when she would come. Sometime whole seasons would pass before she returned, but always she would return. Usually with tears in her eyes she would come, and like the other times she would try and take care of the cottage, but she wasn’t very good at it. The small garden soon overgrow with weeds and grass over taking it, and the roof started to leaked, and a window broke in a bad storm letting the elements into the house. Still the rainbow one tried. She tried to love the small cottage, as the one who had loved it had. She tried to honor that memory of the one who had loved the small cottage, but memories, like time, fade away. They get blurry and distance, and it seems the more we tried to hold on to them the more they slip away, like sands in an hourglass. Then the rainbow one stop coming too. Many seasons passed and soon whole years and she never return. Perhaps the pain of loss was finally too great for her to return, or perhaps she had finally found a way to move forward like the others who use to come with her, or perhaps she herself meet back up with the one who had once loved the cottage. Whatever the reason, whatever had happened, the little cottage found itself truly alone.
A very long time passed, seasons and years soon all faded together so that the could no longer be told apart. The cottage became forgotten, on the edge of a forest, far out from the lights of town, down a small path no one had any reason to travel, the small cottage sat, slowly wasting away as things that are forgotten tend to do. No one to remember that it was there, or that there had once been a time when there had been one who had loved it, who had taken care of it, who had made it shin like rain drops in a summer storm. The small garden had once again become part of the land so it was almost like it had never been there. Then one spring the flower bloomed, right there where the small garden had once been. A small yellow flower with a little bit of pink on it petals. The flower, it grew, it petals shining in the sunlight. A little bit of happiness in a world of forget. So it stood a forgotten house, with it’s overgrown garden, with it tiny yellow flower, on the edge of a town where no one remember it.
The End
