He asked his young son what he does in the garden…
how can he play out there for hours…
His son smiled and said, “it’s simple, Dad.
I have questions for the flowers.
“I ask them where their colors come from,
sometimes I get down on my knees
and I whisper into their petals…
do you dream about the bees.”
“I ask them how they breathe,
and if they ever have the chance
to laugh or play with one another…
and if they sing…or dance.”
“I ask them if they have a heart,
if they have a soul…a brain.
I ask them which one they like more
the sunshine or the rain.”
“I ask them how they know to bloom in Springtime
and I ask them where they go
where do they vacation
in the Winter cold and snow?”
“That’s why I spend so much time with them…
why I can play out there for hours…
because there always seem to be more questions
I want to ask the flowers.
“And do the flowers answer?” Dad asked
“Do they talk back to you?”
The little boy’s eyes widened…then he smiled…
“Oh Dad…of course they do.”
And many times after they talked that day
the little boy didn’t go to the garden alone….
He walked hand in hand with his father…
who had some questions of his own.
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