The Sun is a Flower

May 20, 2011 § 1 Comment

I miss my garden.  I want dirt on my hands, sunshine on my back.  It hasn’t stopped raining for five days.  I haven’t seen the sun since Sunday.  Technically, it hasn’t rained continuously, but it feels like it.  It reminds me of a short story by Ray Bradbury I had to read while in school.  Humans had moved to another planet in the solar system, maybe Mars or Venus?  I don’t remember, but whatever planet it was, it rained non-stop.  Honestly, it never stopped raining except for one hour every seven years on this planet.  I have no idea why.  The story was set in a classroom, and all the little children could not remember ever seeing the sun before.  They were children of rain and storm, accustomed to the unceasing susurration of running water.  But it was almost time.  The seventh year was here and the hour was approaching.  The sun was making its way through the gloomy rain.  There was one little girl though, who had been born on Earth.  She remembered the sun.  Living on the planet was killing her because she couldn’t see the sun.  But the hour was coming.  She was in the classroom and she wrote a poem about the event.  It was two lines and I’ve never forgotten them.  She wrote:

I think the sun is a flower
That blooms for just one hour.

The other children knew she was different; she had knowledge they couldn’t comprehend.  She was dying without the sun.  And because they were jealous and spiteful, or maybe just little kids, they locked her in a closet.  And when the time came, they ran outside and heard the vast silence of a dry sky and felt the weight of sunlight in their bones.  For an hour they played.  Then when the sun had been swirled away into mist and the tidal waves of rain were pounding the planet again, they went back to their classroom and let the little girl out of the closet.


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