Moments In The Morning (A Vignette)

A glorious morning to make one happy to be alive.

The rose bushes swayed a little in the gentle caress of a breeze.

The butterfly deftly balanced itself over the rose: ‘OMG, the man is coming to us here with his basket.’

‘Let him,’ said the rose unruffled.

‘Let him, eh? You very well know why he is headed here.’

‘Yes, he’s going to pluck those of us in full bloom – me included.’

‘And you’re not worried? How could these humans do that? Can’t they enjoy the beauty, letting you live and look gorgeous on the stem?’

‘Listen, don’t grieve for us. In any case we have only a couple of more days to go before we begin withering away. At least…’

‘What ‘at least’?’

‘If the man takes us with him, yes, that’s end of the road for us. But we go out in glory….you know we’ll adorn his deity, god…in the crown!  What better way to…’

The conversation ceased suddenly without goodbye’s said. A teary butterfly took off swiftly, getting out of harm’s way; for, the man was already up on the bush.

With his basket almost full up, the man was set to go when he spotted it.

As his fingers closed around, the butterfly made a valiant attempt to distract him.

To no avail.

All the same, buzzed by the flying insect, he lost his balance for a moment and the rose fell back into the bush.

Could see it lodged deep inside the bush on a bed of thorns, a few petals shed in the fall.

Like the great Kuru, Bishma?

‘So be it,’ the man walked god-wards, the loss tinging him for a moment.

The butterfly never in its life returned to the bush.

End

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