The Yellow Flower

The two children, the girl and the boy she had shown the way, knelt before the small green shoot. It was no longer just a shoot. Overnight, a single, small flower had opened. It was the color of a pale sunrise, a soft, hopeful yellow.

The boy reached out a hand, then stopped, remembering the lesson of stillness. He looked at the girl. She was not looking at the flower, but at him. She was smiling.

The flower was not the only thing that had bloomed in the quiet garden. Something had bloomed between them, too, a shared and silent understanding. The garden was not just a place of dirt and seeds. It was a place of connection.