Rilke and Benvenuta

Two spring blooms, paper skinned and delicate found themselves breaking frozen soil on opposite sides of the yard. Easily bruised and blown by the wind they stole glances at each other through green grasses too tall to afford them a clear view. The one by the crackled orange pot thought the other's color quite attractive and vibrant against the bluing sky The one by the humming bird feeder thought the other's stem to be strong and able to resist the wind's breath. As days went on, they both dreamed dreams of each other filled in mostly by imagination since mere glimpses were the reality of things. The sun asked for their perfume as a gift to the air and both, quite flattered, released to the wind violet, orange peel, candied breath mixed with the dust of earth. For the first time, they sensed each other in full the one leaning toward the other with a desire uncommon amongst flowers. Summer watched and waited for the perfect moment. Bees visited each flower and carried pollen on yellow legs. For the first time, they tasted each other and smiled. Summer still watched, still waited. Then, when the yearning was at it's finest, and their petals were on the verge of passing their prime, Summer let loose it's rain. Rain to grow the grass still higher. Rain to crowd out the glimpses and push the yearning to a new level. Rain which brought the human legs to the garden with the big machine. All at once, the grass was cut. The two flowers, having lived a life of imagination with each other, turned for the first time with a clear view. What they saw was shocking. Two common dandelions about to be blown to swirls in the wind. No more, no less. With what they imagined one another to be, cut away with the grass they both turned toward the more important task of holding their own lives never to dream of one another again.