Withering Wisteria
While wisps of wisteria wither away with time, I pray you do not meet the very same fate.
Wisteria is a whimsical flower, casting an enchanting aura within its space it occupied in the world we lived in. She is a magnificent resident in a respectful tree standing tall in all its glory. The other ordinary trees watched it enviously, helplessly gawking at its effortless beauty. She knew it was breathtaking; her flower petals dangled enticingly, creating an illusion of magic, and sparking a curiosity so great, wondering what world lay behind the tree and what it concealed.
A certain wisp of wisteria was once swaying with the wind, whistling softly while it appreciated the lovely weather, oblivious to the mortifying fate her and her sisters were to face very soon.
She watched a passerby stop for a moment. It was a grown man, dressed in a crisp, white shirt, with a wool black vest, and a pair of smart black trousers and loafers. He was carrying a laptop briefcase, and was hurriedly checking the time on his expensive wristwatch, scrunching his nose as he frowned. He let out an unexpected sneeze, his glasses toppling forward on the bridge of his nose from the severity of the impact, and he lifted his gaze off his watch, making direct eye contact with the wisteria wisp. The wisteria smiled, mystified by the man. The breeze ruffled his dark hair, and he timidly pushed it back neatly, and fixed his glasses back to its appropriate stance on his nose.
‘The wind made his wisps sway too.’ The wisteria observed in fascination. ‘He is different from my siblings and I, and yet he is the same.’
The man stepped towards the tree curiously, his observing gaze truly drinking in its alluring elegance. He reached his hand up gently, and cradled the wisteria petals looking at him cautiously. He smiled softly, involuntarily, and then he glanced at the other wisps on the massive and magnificent tree.
The wisteria wisp was surprised to see that he did not want to see what was behind the tree. He only wanted to admire the tree itself, and the wisterias taking residence on it. The man stepped back, letting the wisteria go, and he breathed deeply, appreciating the peaceful moment he had, before he sneezed again.
‘What an odd thing he does.’ The wisteria mused.
“I really hate having a cold.” He mumbled to himself, and then he smiled. “I bet you don’t get a cold, do you?”
‘So that’s what that is? That weird sound he makes is a cold?’ The wisteria wondered curiously.
Suddenly, the wind picked up its speed, on a ruthless rampage for reasons beyond anyone’s capability of understanding, and battered the wisteria on the tree unforgivingly. The little wisteria watching the man gasped in horror when the wind uprooted its limb from the tree, and it flew off haphazardly with some of her siblings that were not fortunate enough to clutch on for dear life.
The wisp of wisteria felt it immediately. She was cut from her power source, from what kept her alive, healthy and well. She was about to wither away, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The man quickly bent down, abandoning his briefcase, and he picked up the wisteria he was previously admiring, and held it in his hand.
“My daughter would absolutely love you.” He simpered ruefully. “For whatever time you have left, she will take care of you and admire you, even when you wither away.”
The wisteria weeped woefully. Why must it be so vulnerable and helpless? Why must it wither and fade?
“Isn’t it interesting and humbling to acknowledge how we all wither away at some point in our lives?” The man’s words caused the wisteria to stop and mull over his words. “You might wither away soon, but so will I someday. And I think the circle of life is such a beautiful thing.”
The wisteria felt the man place her gently in his pocket, and she felt warm and protected, and she never felt more appreciated. As she thought about his words, she couldn’t help but wish that he would never wither away.
While I wither away with time,
I pray you do not meet the very same fate.
I am grateful you have become a friend of mine,
But I fear our friendship has come too late.
And while my petals curl in on themselves shyly,
I pray you will not do the same and instead stand tall and mighty.
Us flowers bend and shift, so dainty,
But you carry yourself with resilience, so jaunty.
I pray you value every moment of your life.
I pray you never have to live in strife.
Your daughter sounds like a delight,
And I promise to love her with all my might.
For with what little time I have left,
Our paths crossing was deliberate.
I intend to cherish every moment I have left,
And I thank you for saving me and being so considerate.
