Once a grain dropped on the dry stony and unplowed soil. It was hard lying there, with almost nothing to eat. Yet, the sun shone, the salubrious dew would come in the morning, while the hard soil had lots of microscopic cracks where even weak little roots could take hold. Thus the seed did not wither, was not eaten by mice or blown away by storms, but, oddly enough, it sprouted. And, in the twinkling of an eye, a barely visible thin stalk was waving in the wind. Passersby were unaware of it: some would just pass by, others would tread on it with their gigantic shoes, and voracious birds of prey would peck away at the tiny leaves and new weak sprouts. Even the life-giving sun would sear the grain with its burning rays, cracking the ground and tearing up the still weak roots. The stubborn plant brought forth, however, new sprouts over and over, put out new little roots, and shoot tiny bright green leaves. At last, the plant took a certain place in the sun, rose over the ground and began to look around attentively. Yet, it had so far yielded neither flowers nor fruits.
It was now noticed by the others who wondered why this upstart of a plant had cropped up here and taken the place reserved for somebody else more well-known and important. Is this perhaps a daring challenge to the whole vegetable beau monde? For it not yet clear what kind of flower it will break into and what fruits it will bear when it grows up. The most eerie presentiments and forecasts were voiced by the nocturnal plants who took even the faintest light of day as bane.
Humans also took notice of the outlandish plant. Very few of them would take a hoe and weed the land around. Most of the people would pluck the leaves and break the frail branches on the move to wave flies away; some tried to break the trunk and make a walking-cane out of it; there were also those who pretended to fertilize the surrounding soil, while in fact pouring acid or lime around the plant. Yet the greatest danger emanated from field flower pickers who would root out the whole plant, so that no trace remained for the next season.
Insects were buzzing around, stinging the fresh flowers and shaking their pollen onto the ground – they spread about not only pollen but also rumors, carrying back poisonous and noxious juices on their antennae or proboscises.
When the young plant first came into bud, the intrigued high flora society began to gossip about the likely nature, color, size and shape of its flowers. But what everybody saw later was totally unexpected: the flowers that blossomed were all entirely different. Each had a shape, color, smell and – later – fruits of its own. It was also unusual that this variety of flowers was surprisingly in full harmony, resembling sort of an artistic mosaic. At first this shocked all, “Just look how odd it is! Silly! Defying! Unprincipled! Such different flowers on the same stem!” Still, the world began to get used to it little by little, and some even urgently took to self-selection with a view to diversifying their own flora. Only wasps – notorious for their principled approaches – refused to reconcile to this, “A plant must bloom in one color only – white or black, red or yellow. All the rest is devil’s play.”
Meanwhile, the plant continued to take root, put out new branches, buds, and flowers with a new hues. Yet, its life still remained difficult and harsh. Some would break and poison flowers with the lethal stupefying pollen, others would mock at its floral rainbow. Many were prompt to veer off their path only to pluck and stamp out a quaint color. “Why is it so varied?” Also dangerous were the experimenting biologists who tried to graft various saplings, such as lopsided burdock, bitter and thorny blueberry, or even the mysterious vampire shrub, onto the young plant out of the scientific curiosity to see the result.
Yet, as time went by, our plant won many protectors – not only in the meadow where it grew but also in the faraway meadows from where worker bees would bring over minerals and nectar. The nectar made the flower brighter and the minerals promoted immunity and foiled the attempts of changing the nature of or destroying the plant.
This year as well, contrary to the hopes of some well-wishers and selectors, the plant has braved the frost and heat and blossomed again into a rainbow of all colors.
