Normally we here at Sfts take only true stories to publish. However, there are stories that are not true, but carry truth in them-parables if you like. This is one of them. Thanks DriverX

A long time ago, in a place so far away that you can’t get there from here, there was a huge forest. In the middle of the huge forest was a medium sized clearing, and in the middle of the medium sized clearing was a small patch of flowers.

Every day, the wind would blow through the huge forest, across the medium sized clearing, and into the small patch of flowers, making all the flowers dance and sing.

All, that is, but one. She was the most beautiful flower of all, and every day while her sisters and brothers danced and sang in the wind, she would cry, because she believed that the wind made her less beautiful by messing up her petals.

One day, as the other flowers danced and sang in the wind, the most beautiful flower finally decided she’d had enough. “That’s it,” she cried, “I’ve had enough!” She pulled up her roots and stomped to the edge of the medium sized clearing, where she hopped over an old log. Planting her roots, she felt sure that the wind would never find her there, and she slept peacefully through the night.

The next day, the wind blew through the huge forest, across the medium sized clearing, and into the small patch of flowers, making all the flowers dance and sing. Then, the wind did what it had done every other day, which was to cross to the edge of the medium sized clearing and hop over an old log. Imagine the wind’s surprise when it found the most beautiful flower there! The wind blew her petals about, and went on its way.

The most beautiful flower was distraught. She’d gone to all the trouble of leaving her flower patch to get away from the wind, and here it had found her the very next day! She moaned. She cried. She wailed. In fact, she fussed so loudly that the noise woke an ancient mushroom near her on the old log.

“What”, asked the ancient mushroom “is all this noise about? I’m trying to sleep!”

The most beautiful flower explained her situation, stating that the wind, every day, messed up her petals, making her somewhat less beautiful, and that she’d tried to get away from it, but that that mean old wind had tracked her down and done it all over again. “Oh, where”, she finished, “could I possibly find shelter from that nasty wind?!”

The ancient mushroom pondered this question for a long while, occasionally humming or hawing, then said, “Well, I know of such a place, but I’m not sure you’d like it there.”

“You must tell me”, exclaimed the most beautiful flower, “and I will go there at once!”

“All right,” said the ancient mushroom, “but I warned you.” And he told her.

The most beautiful flower traveled through the huge forest for three days and two nights, never resting. She crossed rivers, climbed mountains, and trudged through valleys, until, finally, she reached her goal. There, exactly as the ancient mushroom had promised, was the entrance to a cave.

The most beautiful flower worked her way back to the deepest, darkest, most secret recess of the cave, and planted her roots. “Here,” she whispered into the echoing darkness, “the wind will never come.” And she was right. The wind never came to trouble her there, but neither did she see the sun, and without the sun’s sustaining light, the most beautiful flower of all withered, and died.

Beauty hidden is forever lost.

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