In the High Grasses
Curiosity can lead people to neglect the ones that matter the most. - hugo/lily
disclaimer: (c) j.k. rowling
It's that rustle from the high grasses that always makes him wonder. Do the plants think? Do they have feelings? Are they like us? Can they hear me when I talk? Are they able to have emotions? Are they able to see?
To him, it sounds like a mellowed out tune fabricated from melancholy, singing for their simple desires that no one seems to give them. He spends a day tending to the high grasses, to the roses and lilies, and all of the trees, feeding the birds and the fish by the pond; his adoration of nature shining through.
She smiles at him on the sunny days, hair as red as the crimson amaryllis, eyes as brown as the bark of the pine trees. He watches her in wonder, as she dances upon the grasses, its leaves up to her waist, creating the illusion of which she was a lone flower in a field. He stands there, the watering can overflowing.
Later, she's given a bouquet of amaryllises, left on her doorstep, bound together with a single strand of a grass stem. He smiles from the field, a figure made out by the light radiating from the sun, one who loves nature and everything in it; never to give up anything for it.
A/N: Reviews are welcome.