Their petals were of the fresh white beneath the occasional morning dew, green beneath them, wet,dripping.I moved towards the center where lay the yellow spec and the pure nonexistent fragrance. The petals were notched twice, they received the dew, studding themselves with the colour of the grey light from above. They bobbed in the breeze and so did their fragrance, nonexistent,fresh,peaceful. The lawn I could not tread, the fence stopped me. The plant in the center had this white beauty, washing away some of its radiant peace to the breeze that the palm combs through it's leaves. The wind's passing made a sound of flowing water,and yet the sky dripped wet. The petals were red, as they fell to the ground, red and stark yellow, as they fell for the combed breeze. Peace lingers around every blade that flutters in the wind, every petal that bathes in the morning dew and every drop that slips off the leaf to the moist,fragrant earth.
The bark is red, the earth is too, ornated by the white petals, moist petals, they make patterns on the red and in my mind. They sway with some force and vitality. Their frail petals slapping the nectar within, blowing the colloid into the intoxicating breeze filled by the morning sparrow's chirp. The rain has come.