THE LONELY LITTLE PETUNIA
A vagrant seed was wafted onto my balcony and settled in a pot which housed a prickly cactus. One day, two timid leaves poked through the soil and greeted the sun. Daily the little orphan grew stronger and soon became a straggly teenager although it still clung to the edge of the pot, too shy to usurp its bedfellow’s growing space. Then, one day it burst into bloom with ten pure white blossoms, a veritable bride in the wedding dress. This lonely little petunia was the epitome of purity and innocence. It was watered daily with something akin to reverence, so white, so pure, so abundant were its blooms.
On a quiet evening when other flowers had folded their petals and the trees were still, a quilted moonlight trailed a veil of peace across the skies. An errant moonbeam escaped and touched a petal of the petunia, transforming it momentarily into a porcelain lamp.
Feelings of humility came with the thought that one tiny dry seed could evolve into such a thing of beauty and bring such joy.