Once there was a flowerbed filled with clusters of vibrant flowers.
“I am the perfect color!” boasted the red Chrysanthemum
“I beg to differ.” retorted the yellow.
“I prefer my orange and yellow.” mumbled the mixed variety but no one heard as she was very shy, having spent her days being referred to by the plain colors as “hybrid”.
One red clump, dissatisfied with being forced to clump together with others “not her type”, also refused to speak to her fellow reds for she had, on occasion heard them chatting to the other varieties.
“I think they have no idea what trouble this may bring.” she muttered. “They must be affected by caterpillars.”
A bee, who had no respect for individual opinions happened to pass by and set to work busily collecting pollen.
Landing here, rummaging about there, he left the scene laden with pollen, oblivious to the outrage the blossoms felt as he passed from color to color.
Now winter came and the flowers disappeared until the spring and the plants were so busy struggling to stay alive that they had no time to care about the affairs of their neighbors.
With spring, the new buds appeared, and a miraculous event occurred.
Thanks to the bee, chrysanthemums burst forth in shades of red and gold, orange and crimson, yellow and red and, for no explicable reason some pure white and they forgot all about their ancestor’s prejudices and astonished the whole garden bed with their harmony.
For you see, although each thought themselves different, they realized they were all only flowers after all.
TJ Paris 2017