The Cosmos Flower
written by: Charlie Williamson
A petal drifts slowly down to the silent welcome of river water. Another one follows. A rhythmic, inaudible pattering of little wings that once bloomed life and I stare at the water seeing nothing. The bridge isn’t high so neither am I. But I feel a slight ache in my arms from leaning on the wall for an age: this flower I plucked seems to have an endless supply.
I mindlessly think about life and the messes it creates, how ties to people become severed and disregarded so the pieces of me are held together by the fragile rays of the sun. The star shines on my back but it doesn’t for some, as half the world wakes weary and the other sleeps deathlike. I can’t remember the name of the flower but its petals sure add little specks of colour to the brown murk that casually snakes away from me. I am reminded bleakly of the coffee left to turn a cold grey in my kitchen.
Another petal is dropped. For a second, the light shone in such a way it flashed almost imperceptibly, like some superfluous mirage. It reappears on the water. My worn shoes hold a mirror up against my stagnant vivacity, and they watch the flower woefully relinquish another piece of its dress. No one passes me on the bridge. I am accompanied solely by the soft hum of bees or a dragonfly’s flutter.
I believe there is an innate need to point a finger at someone, or something, and blame them for all one’s troubles. I have that right in front of me. Perhaps I should count my blessings but the petals floating away from me raise a far more challenging number to attempt. I shall ignore the one that has soft willow leaves dipping into its path. It is out of sight now. Out of reach.
Cosmos. I think there are few petals left. My arms want to turn away but my feet can’t respond. I drop another and wish it were me. A cloud goes in front of the sun.
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