A Little Yellow Blossom

Wind separated her from her mother. A strong, warm gust of it blew like the soft exhale of Gaia as she sighed in bliss. It whittled her connection to her mother, pulling and pulling at their interlocked hands in the bared white heart they all grew from. Finally the child gave up and allowed herself to be carried away by the inviting caress of spring. As she floated farther, she watched as her fellow siblings were scattered in all different directions. One by one they broke apart the protective white cover, fuzzy and warm, that they gave to their mother. Their parent was left alone, shivering, and standing exposed in the vast green land of knives she had driven her roots into.

But the seedling looked ahead, knowing that the snares of the past could never be strong enough to keep her down. She floated and floated and floated in the breath of Mother Gaia, farther than she had originally thought. From her view on the wings of the weather, she saw that her homeland, once infinite and sprawling, limitless and tall, was only a large green patch perpetuated with her kin. Finally, the young seedling saw beyond the horizon, the restraint that she never thought she’d pass. She sailed over the field, high and away from her birthing ground, and to another field, steep and rolling like a skate park, each gentle hill a permanent inhale of the earth.

The wind could carry her no more. It died down, its breath retracting back to the clouds high above, and gently descended the seedling down on the soft, lush earth. Here, to her delight, she found soil, a bed with just enough water to feed her thirst. She soaked into this fertile foundation, embedding herself slowly into it. She gave one long survey of the home she had found, feeding herself on the sight of lush blades of grass, swollen blue skies above, bloated white clouds smiling down, and the dappled sunshine. 

And then she began to grow. It took time. The seedling witnessed the sun rise and set, the light pass and stop. At first it was lonely, silent. She missed the whispers and murmurs of her siblings and the protective hold of her mother. But with every day that passed, she learned to mature and grow. She felt a desire to grow faster, so strong that it seized her entire body, drew out all the energy in her to sprout roots that stretched and dug. They were the only thing that helped to satisfy her hunger. She grabbed every spot of warmth, every graze of light. The saw-toothed leaves were the plates that offered energy; they were the mouths open for food.

Shortly after that the seedling knew that the sun was not enough. Food was not enough. She needed a safeguard, a foundation, to quench her thirst and claim domain. She grew a long lifeline that plunged into the wet earth, grappling with every mound of soil, soaking up the water to satiate the seedling’s thirst. 

But then the sun’s pattern changed. Warmth became scarce. Cold turned moisture in the soil to ice. The plant felt her leaves shiver and tremble, begging to retreat. She granted their wish. She packed all the nutrients stored up on the surface and shipped them deep underground, to a place left invulnerable to the taunting breath of Boreas. 

Never had the plant faced harder obstacles. But she clung to life, clung to her dreams of warmer days. Her will was stronger than the layer of delicate, patterned snowflakes that fell in millions of shards. Stronger than the shuddering, crushing grip of Boreas. Stronger than the masses of crystalline ice that blocked the sun’s desperate attempts to penetrate and reach the ground. She called upon all the determination and strength in her reserves; she used each nutrient stored wisely and meagerly. Several times it seemed as if the long spell of cold cast on the land would win, but oh—

She survived.

The tiniest little plant, barely bigger than the full bloom of a rose, had outwitted the monstrous pressure of Boreas’s palm on half the earth. 

When the carved, thin slices of ice began to thaw, the plant knew it had won. She feasted on the meltwater that soaked deep within the soil. As soon as the coattails of winter had only just brushed against the earth in farewell, the plant burst forth with stems, risking herself to the wrath of cold that might come back.

But oh, her determination was seen and rewarded. Thallo and Persephone gently escorted Boreas from his throne on earth and blessed the land with warmth and life. As soon as the plant sensed the powerful descent of a new season, she let bright yellow petals bloom from her stems. She called upon herself to become one of the first signs that spring was here.

The helpful assistants of birth visited upon the yellow blossoms and gently urged the plant to continue her bloodline. She shed her petals, each one falling like tears of nature, and bore a small fruit, white and spotted, the inside bursting with new children excited to see the world. The plant smiled and thought of her mother and siblings. They were now only a distant memory, a nostalgic thought, of what used to be.

And finally, the children blossomed to life. Thickly, whispering, glistening with rainbows at the touch of light. They tipped each stem with the hope of new beginnings, a round jewel of existence. The plant, aged and wizened, smiled at the murmurs of her children.

And she knew that they would live the same story as her, a cycle of life.

by CHELSEA GUO