tulip

Tulips are sweet, beautiful flowers. They are colorful and have become an archetype of Spring. Here in the garden, where tulips grow among the daisies and dandelions and wildflowers, a rabbit has left her safe refuge under an unsuspecting bush, and with wiggling her nose, hops across to the first tulip she sets her eyes on. It is yellow and bright and has been no stranger to many eager, bumbling bees whom have set course to pollinate. Darting eyes, and a slight turn of ear, she takes her little mouth with sharp teeth and begins to eat the petals. Her granite-colored fur is lightly blown in the breeze as she settles in for her mid-morning snack. Her cotton tails wiggles back and forth in her contentment. Suddenly, a sound of a truck backfires – POW! – It reminds her of some archaic, ancestral knowledge of gunfire and rabbits before her, hunted and running for their lives. It is a deep, knowledge that she is not intelligent enough to reflect on but after a few sniffs she settles that it is no longer safe to be here. And with her tulip half-eaten, she runs across the garden’s courtyard and seeks refuge in another bush, waiting for a good time to run back out and somewhere else that is anywhere but here. The wind sways the sweet flowers and makes their collective aroma spin around the air. The Countess walks into the garden and sees the mess the rabbit made. She is livid and horrified. The flower show was about to start. Hastily moving in ways that would defy her age, she stoops down to remove the regretful scene, plucking it up from the stem and picking up the loose petals. There are voices turning the corner now and rushed, she stuffs the refuse into her pocket. Fake-ly smiling, betraying nothing. They would never know. The judges lift their top hats, nodding in appreciation, and take notes. The sun casts its rays downward from the big blue –

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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