It was early. The sky was drowsily changing colours, but he was already outside in the small garden behind the house. The sun had barely poked its rays through the tree’s branches, still weak in its tired morning state.
He reached out and grabbed hold of some of the golden life. It flickered around his palm, confused. He cupped it gently, and walked to the small plant hidden under the massive bulk of the bushes. Their leaves rattled warningly, but he payed them no heed. Instead he focused on the stunted stems. Only weak swirls announced this plant’s remaining life. Unlike the trees and bushes that dominated the garden, this one was small. It would not last long without interference.
Morning dew crept past his pants and onto his knees. He murmured soft words to the light in his palm. It flared and pulsed an offbeat rhythm. His fingers tightened momentarily, then loosened, falling forward. And with the soft push of his palm, the light flowed forward in graceful curves, looping around the small plant.
It settled around it, a golden glow that surrounded each leaf. It soon began to grow, spiraling upwards until it broke past the shade of the neighbouring bushes. Buds formed, then blossomed. Bursts of colour exploded open like so many fireworks in the glowing sky.
When brightness faded, he finally stood. He smiled gently as the plant swayed its gratitude. He caressed the soft petals momentarily and then stepped back.
“Honey? Are you ready for school?” His mother opened the back door and looked out. Her lightly wrinkled face softened as her gaze fell upon him. “Still in your pyjamas,” she threw up her hands, and then her eyes flicked sideways. “Oh!” She exclaimed. “It bloomed! How large it grew! What a miracle. I was so sure it would not survive.” She sighed, her eyes filmed with nostalgic fondness. “The flowers your father would always bring for me,” she murmured softly, but he could hear every word. “That was how we found you,” her gaze returned to him. “Sleeping soundly in a bed of peonies. Such a tiny thing. And now look at you, all grown up.”
He glanced at the flowers in front of him. She had told him many times how he had been found, how they had taken him, and how they loved him as if he were of their own flesh and blood. Though they had not given birth to him, they were the ones who had given him everything.
He smiled and walked back towards the house. “I could see the flowers from my window.” He said as he ushered her inside and closed the door. “I had to go look.”
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