Shadows In the Garden Of Time

Turn back the pages of spring, when the garden was beginning to bloom and every life was new but for the towering trees that reigned.

Go back to the break of dawn and see again the promise of a flower, a flower whose Fate had already been decided and whose beauty and strength had yet to be discovered.

Anyone could see that the soil was lacking, that it was cold and dark and dry even at its best.

But the flower was determined, full of the kind of spirit birds sing about, and succssfully sprouted in the garden.

She was innocent and bright, this flower, and she reached for the sky, wishing upon every star at night.

She strived and stretched, all to no avail.

The tremendous trees blotted out the sun though served no protection against the chilling winds.

The relentless rains slashed at the flower, threatened to drown her, and the winds thrashed her until she drooped tiredly.

The weeks slipped by unseen, and Father Time was both kind and cruel in this act.

Mother Nature showed no mercy, allowing the summer storms to abuse the flower until she grew too weak to stand.

And though the soil was poor and lacking, it offered her one last gift: a reason not to merely wilt.

Surrounding her on all sides, as far as the rains would allow her to see, bright flowers were beginning to sprout.

These flowers grew fast, stood tall, leaning with the wind when it came to toment them again.

They were no match for the fickle rains that were falling softer and turning stranger to the dark, unforgiving soil.

Together, the flowers guarded their center, the source of their own lives, and awaited the return of the sun.

For a time, sunny days did bless their hungry hearts, but every so often the rains returned to steal away the peace of the night.

They began to come fewer and farther between, sprinkling warmly upon the healthy, growing garden.

But Father Time is both kind and cruel, for He continues His journey with or without His passengers.

Now open the chapter to autumn, when the world turns slowly and every life starts wandering off to sleep.

Go now to the twilight that precedes dreams, when life is caught between the worlds of the sinking sun and the rising moon and the impossibility of tomorrow.

Anyone can see that the garden is lacking, but if you look with your heart you can see that the sum of its parts could be so much more.

Anyone can see that that flower is worth fighting for.



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