One day when I was young, and walking with a friend, a field dry as straw bloomed with flowers. "Oh, glory!" we breathed, my good friend and I, for the flowers blazed like suns and fire and rainbows. They sprang from folds between hillsides, peeked from pockets of shade. Spiraling - dancing - they followed us home. . . .
May we be good to plants and flowers. May we take fine care of the places where they grow. Earth won't have to shake and flood and burn so fiercely then. The world will be more wide-awake and tuneful, a place where children - all beings - can bloom.