The Flower That Could Hear People Talk

She was an exception. Always was. Always will be. As a sweet little rose - dressed in a stunning pink dress -  she always was more curious than her siblings. She spent more time alone. More sensitive to the sounds that she could capture independently. She always managed to run on her pretty ballerina pumps to the other side of the public garden where she was able to hear what people where saying to each other. She opened more her pink flower soul. She listened with absolute care. The summer was ending slowly. The autumn had already knocked once on the door.

An old lady was walking in her direction. Slow motion. No high heels. At a certain age it does not make sense anymore. A woman gets wiser in return. The woman was all one. Her eyes were almost closed. The pink rose bowed her head in the direction of the visitor to prepare herself for listening well. For some unknown reason the old lady stopped right next to the rose. The smell of the rose reminded the old woman of a long forgotten time. "Oh, this smell, I know it", she said silently. "Where does it come from?", she added softly. Then she opened her old and wise eyes and saw the rose beneath her feet.

The rose heard now what was happening inside the woman's mind. The woman thought about a scene where she was in her twenties. A handsome young man was smiling at her. He held pink roses in his hand. They were meant for her. The beach a beautiful background. Smooth waves coming in with patience and rolling back in happiness. The couple was talking and having fun. The love of her life, so she would recall him later. In the moment itself people are not always be willing to see the meaning as it is. He was a sailor. They spent the summer together. Then he had to leave again. His ship was booked for the journey ahead.

She always looked forward to the next summer where she would meet him again. Years passed by. The same scene repeated. They were happily in love. The last summer was special. He asked her to marry him. A beautiful moment. He was on his knees. In all romantic settings a must. She said yes and they cried both for inner joy. The sailor asked her to come with him to sail together towards new adventures. She said yes. In another story she would have said no. Afraid to leave the shore. This time it was different and she was ready to go. Together they experienced the best that could happen to them. Love in its most purest form. A blessing for the ones touched by it. A true gift for mankind.

They never regretted their decision. Both listened well to the language of their heart. A wise advisor. A compass for life. Most people forget to practice this art of living. When they are old and grey, they tend to feel sorry for themselves. They could have felt the power of their heart, but did not took the chance. Excuses are always present, if you are willing to see them. The old woman opened her eyes more. The rose saw two diamonds shining. The woman was grateful for her loving life. She always treasured this precious life time memory. The sailor was still alive but in a home for older people. His muscles were tired. The sea asked to pay the journey with his strength.

On Sundays she always visits him. To enjoy breakfast together. They don't say much. Their smile a signal that their love still is intact. Hearts in love always connect. External circumstances can not change this. The old woman decided to take the pink flower with her. She would offer it to her sailor. A sign of deep appreciation for the love that they share. The rose let go her roots. To be carried to a new adventure. Excited the rose looked back to the public garden where she spent her youth. In the home the sailor received the rose. His eyes said it all. Touching scene. The rose was put in the room. Another rose waited there for her. A red one. They fell in love soon. Their fragrance was spread all around. Love is contagious. Especially in the light of the moon.

The Flower That Could Hear People Talk by Liesbeth Leysen

(Photo Credit: David Niblack, http://davesfreephotos.com)