A canary flew pass a field filled with buttercups... It chirped in delight: "Those are my colours, I must have dropped them every time I pass this field"... It was the first time it had seen anything as golden as those flowery heads nodding in unison to the rhythm of cool spring breeze... Those buttercups were in fact grown overnight by season fairies who came to shoo Mr Frosty and his chilly wind hounds away... The canary decided to fly down, marveling at the wonders that had happened in such a short time span... Priding all the effort to itself... He chirped loudly: my precious petally blossoms, you are my creation, so wave at me every time i fly pass this field, for it was I who had showered your petals with colours from my feathers... The buttercups laughed loudly, waving their leaves even more vigorously because they were laughing so hard that they were nearly uprooted... "my dear little feathery friend..." they sang in a chorus, "It was not you who chime our colours so fine, the season fairies are creators of time, who had sprinkled us with colours of the sunshine as bright as a dime, but you on the other hand, should go and seek the flowers who breathe your line, and indeed their names are called as of yours as their kind..."
And so the little canary, bursting with pride, strided the wind with its wings once again... But now it had a purpose instead of the usual monotony of seeking wriggly slugs and fluffy withered greens for its roosting... It flew towards the sun, as he suspect that those flowery heads named after its kind love the sun as much as he does... He flew over some hedges.. and saw....
nothing of that kind....
there were flowers of other kinds... blue, red... purple, white, crimson, orange...pale yellow...pink... but none which match its feathers...
it flew again...passing the graves of a burnt down forest where ashen flowers dropped, but still... no sign of the canary flowers...
Then, it went across the maize field... Though the maize were very much similar, they are hard small seeds which wore a yellow coat coating... the canary ate some of them as he was hungry and exhausted, as he had never travelled for such a long distance before, plucking the golden kernels.... He asked one of the maize plants where he could find the so called flowers, the kind who are called after his ancestral lineage... "Ohh, they are always sneaking out from a tumble down hut over the horizon in the east across the little lake which glows emerald starry ripples... but they will not be out until the they hear the calling of spring fairies..."
"it's the season of the spring now, isn't it?" Canary asked anxiously...
"Yes, indeed, it is... but the spring fairies have not reach the tumble down to blow spells of live to the baby canaries yet, they are as anxious as well, that is why they had tried hard to climb higher so that they could catch the attention of the fairies to attend to their blossoms quickly..."
Canary flapped its wings with joy, thanking the maize plant which had so wisely described what he had been looking for the whole week...He saw at once the creeper of greens on a half engulfed roof of the tumble down... sure enough there wasn't any yellow flowers to be seen anywhere on the frail looking plant... it's arms desperately clinging onto the structure with moth - eaten window panes... "How do you do?" asked the canary, "How do you do..." squeaked the creeper... it's baby- ish elements stood out so oddly that it is hard not to notice that it is still an infant... "Are you named after my ancestors the canaries who could fly the wind?" "I guess not...Firstly, we do not eat slugs, we die because of slugs..." It said sadly... I hope the fairies come and blow the tardiness into my arms and toes so that slugs could never harm us even if it cause injuries to our kin... I need my blossoms to bloom fast so that the wind binders like the bees and beetles could spread our kin lineage over a wider area....I'm so impatient now, cause I'm dying.." The Canary bird was alarmed... after all the effort it has made to claim ownership upon the plant kin who carries the same calling as it does... The plant is going to die... The Canary said " Not to worry, I'll sing to sun, to shower you with its brightest glow so that you are able to be energized, and I'll pick worms out for you to keep your toes safe..." And so the canary bird settled in, nesting at a nearby shrub... taking care of the canary plant day after day... days passed, the canary plant grew stronger... little buds with yellow start to grow...
And at last, a full blossom of canary yellowish colour was a magnificent sight after a single night... The canary bird shouted in delight, it was happy that the canary plant survived, and as even more astonished by the resemblance of the colour tone of the full blossom... "Thank you so much for you care, the fairies came last night while you were sleeping and blew a strong spell on me... that's why my petals are in full blossom today...And I've asked the fairies whether we are related... The answer is yes perhaps and no perhaps not... We are created at the same time... and because we have the same tardiness and qualities that symbolizes our strength of colours, we were given the name which are exactly the same... There wasn't any one who are the predecessors or the followers, it is just us as who we are, there is no claim over one another in nature, we are in fact all equal with our own strength that shines as bright as the sun which gives us life... you rule the wind, but not the sky, i rule the soil, but not the wind... we are good in our own areas and there is no need to claim that who comes after or before..." The canary was satisfied with the answer, it had made his realise that others share its pride in a different way and that there is no point claiming to be superior over one another as there could never be any comparison, as each is unique, and carries the uniqueness till the end... And so it stayed with the plant till its last breathe... And it's body rest right under the plant's leaves sheltered from rain and shine, surrounded by yellow flower heads with pray for it every time their petals open...
(My pen -on which is not that great, but heart warming for me)
Ere the bright star which tends the morning sky,
Hangs o'er the flushing east his diamond eye
The chaste Tropaeo leaves her secret bed;
A saint-like glory trembles round her head; Eight watchful swains along the lawns of night
With amorous steps pursue the virgin light;
O'er her fair form the electric lustre plays,
And cold she moves amid the lambent blaze
So shines the glow-fly when the sun retires,
And gems the night air with phosphoric fires;
Thus o'er the marsh aerial lights betray
And charm the unwary wanderer from his way
( Poem from In the "Loves of the Plants," by the elder Darwin)
