The story of the stone and the flower, a tale by an unknown author.

The Story Of The Stone & The Flower

The Story Of The Stone & The Flower

“You have hardened”, said the flower, bending her petals downward toward the stone at her roots. “These rains should have softened you, made you more fertile and receptive to the seeds of the fields, but no. You have accumulated minerals and have become more silent and full of calcium. Why do you stay here? Why do you resist the brook that gives us water?”

The stone said nothing.

The flower bent her petals slowly back to the sky, and the day passed in silence, clouds crossing lazily in the distance. Eventually, the sun set and the night arrived with a plump bronze-coloured moon, reflecting off of the silent stone at the flower’s feet. The flower, by now, had tucked her petals in and settled into a deep sleep. After a time, within the cool darkness, a voice rose into the mist, old and soft and rugged, saturated with the slow movement of sediment beneath the earth:

“I stay here because your roots have made me yours. I stay here because it is no longer about my feeling the earth, but because I have become part of that which functions as a support for your stem, which resists the wind and the rain. Everything changes, my sweet flower”, said the stone, “but I stay here because love is that imperceptible space between your feet and my salted skin. Only if destiny separated us, would you then know the feeling of it.”

The moon followed the fading of the stars; dawn gave a yawn as the sun began to burn its horizon on the lower lip of the mouth of a new day. The flower awoke and extended her beautiful petals. “Good morning”, she said, “I dreamt that you were singing to me. How foolish of me, don’t you think?”

The stone said nothing. 

Source Notes / Commentary

A long-circulating online anecdote, The Story of the Stone & The Flower is a tale by an as yet unidentified writer; this is our slightly edited, and hopefully complementary, version.

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“You have hardened”, said the flower, bending her petals downward toward the stone at her roots. “These rains should have softened you, made you more fertile and receptive to the seeds of the fields, but no. You have accumulated minerals and have become more silent and full of calcium. Why do you stay here? Why do you resist the brook that gives us water?”

The stone said nothing.

The flower bent her petals slowly back to the sky, and the day passed in silence, clouds crossing lazily in the distance. Eventually, the sun set and the night arrived with a plump bronze-coloured moon, reflecting off of the silent stone at the flower’s feet. The flower, by now, had tucked her petals in and settled into a deep sleep. After a time, within the cool darkness, a voice rose into the mist, old and soft and rugged, saturated with the slow movement of sediment beneath the earth:

“I stay here because your roots have made me yours. I stay here because it is no longer about my feeling the earth, but because I have become part of that which functions as a support for your stem, which resists the wind and the rain. Everything changes, my sweet flower”, said the stone, “but I stay here because love is that imperceptible space between your feet and my salted skin. Only if destiny separated us, would you then know the feeling of it.”

The moon followed the fading of the stars; dawn gave a yawn as the sun began to burn its horizon on the lower lip of the mouth of a new day. The flower awoke and extended her beautiful petals. “Good morning”, she said, “I dreamt that you were singing to me. How foolish of me, don’t you think?”

The stone said nothing. 

Source Notes / Commentary

A long-circulating online anecdote, The Story of the Stone & The Flower is a tale by an as yet unidentified writer; this is our slightly edited, and hopefully complementary, version.

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