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As his young son returned from the garden his father asked,
What do you do out there for hours?”
His son said with an innocent smile, “I’m talking with the flowers.”

“I ask them if thunder scares them, 
or how they’re feeling after a storm.
and when the weather turns a little colder…how they manage to keep warm.”

“I ask them if they can see the colors that make up their flower bed.
I seem to spend a lot of time explaining yellow, green and red.”

I ask them what they dream about…if they’ve ever had the chance…
to play with other flowers…to laugh or sing…or dance.”

I ask them if they have a heart, a soul, a mind…a brain.
I ask which one they like the most…the sunshine…or the rain.”

I ask them if they think about the wind, the clouds, the sky…the trees.
and what it feels like to be friends with hummingbirds and bees.”

“That’s why I spend so much time with them…why I can sit and talk for hours…
because I always seem to have more question I want to ask the flowers.”

“And do the flowers answer?” His dad asked tentatively. 
“Do they talk back to you?”
His son’s eyes widened…then he smiled, 
“Oh, Dad…of course they do.”

From that day forward there were many times
The son didn’t go to the garden alone…
He walked hand in hand with his father…
who had some questions of his own.

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