Flower Circle
There is a place in our town which belongs to flowers and nobody is allowed to go there. It is a round piece of land surrounded by a low decorative fence. The flowers bloom and sway in the wind. They show bright colors during the day and wear mysterious hues at night. And they are silent.
As people go about their business in the streets of this town, and tip their hats in greetings, they glance nervously at the flower circle. They never glance more than twice in a row actually, because they don’t know what could happen. Occasionally, they make a comment about the flowers. They whisper it nervously. Just a few words, and very very quietly, almost expecting the other person to read their lips. Can flowers hear you? Can they see you and read your lips? Where are their eyes?
Few know much about flowers because it is not their business to know. Most people are not botanists or florists. Most people have their daily cares such as doing business or cooking dinner, or finding a parking spot. No time to learn about flowers. Certainly not the men.
Well, this is the problem, see? I am a man, but I am absolutely fascinated by flowers. Why are they here? Did anyone put them here? Or did they somehow arrive themselves?
”It’s the city council,” somebody whispers, “They waste all this space on flowers."
"It’s a real shame."
"The flowers will spread, I can tell you this much. There’s a city by the coast that is all flowers now."
"Outrageous."
"How do they breed?"
"Rapidly."
"When will somebody speak up? Who will finally say something?"
"This person will be our leader."
"Indeed."
"We won’t agree with everything they say…"
"Granted."
"…but we will respect their position on flowers."
"Hear, hear.”
Meanwhile, I am standing here, looking at the flowers, just like everyone else, but I have a secret book in my bag. It is a book about flowers. Should I let it be know? Read it on the tram? No, I will wait until I am home. I wouldn’t want to stir these people up. It is not necessary.
Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk