Gabrielle’s Magical Notebook

As I walked along the river side I saw a woman dressed all in black sitting on the bank cradling a dying flower in her hands. I sat down beside her to see the flower that she held.

“Sister,” I said, “What is the meaning of this flower?”

The woman looked at me, tears and laughter swimming in her eyes. She looked from me to the flower and to me again.

“Meaning?” she asked.

“What enlightenment do you receive from the flower?” I asked. “What great thoughts does it inspire?”

The woman held the flower out to me in her two hands. I took it in mine and gazed at it. It was purple, green and weightless. It rested in my hands as if, had it a soul, it would had entrusted it to me.

“What do you see in that flower?” the woman all in black asked me.

I stared at the flower. It was purple and green, the colors of life, but now it was dying. I could not know how long its life had been and now it was over. I spoke my thoughts to the woman. She nodded.

“And?”

And I had only noticed it when its death was near. Had it been planted by the side of the river I would have walked past without seeing it or enjoying it. I spoke my thoughts to the woman. She nodded.

“And?”

And this flower in dying had brought me here to her. Its death connected us to each other. Had it lived we would still be strangers, passing each other without thought or comment. But it is death that tied us together. I spoke my thoughts to the woman. She nodded and took the flower back from me.

“Sister,” I said, “What do you see in that flower?”

She looked at me with her serious eyes, dressed all in black sitting by the river side.

“I see,” she said, “That it is pretty.” And then said no more.