Flower in a Storm Rachel Mattson

There a flower stands: petals fanned like reaching hands stretching towards the sun, running a race it has already won. Vibrant purple, lively green: a pop of color in a tossing sea. Life whirls by, full of joy, full of surprise and endless blue skies.

Droplets of water start to form clouds, like people congregating in a crowd, throwing shadows over the ground. Still the flower stands with its outward reaching hands vigorously holding its place, determined to never slow its pace.

All the while, a storm builds overhead, swatching the sky in gray and strokes of fiery red. Wind picks up, howling a banshee’s scream. The flower gets tossed and whipped around. The pounding rain now a deafening sound. Too much weight to bare—the flower rips right up from the ground where it once stood so tall and proud.

Lost in the screaming gusts; slipping, falling, and drowning all at once; learning that there is nothing it can trust. Shoved and pushed down, buried deep into a hole in the cold frozen ground where its internal screams are muffled. Shivering, everything goes numb.

Dull thudding, ever and ever faster— Can’t enough just be enough? The flower lays there crushed, beat from the trauma come from above. All will for life has been given up.

With the sky so dark, no sun to spark inspiration, fascination, and child-like curiosity, the flower shrivels up. Curled into a protective ball, trembling from its fall, brown and frail, not the one to prevail, torrents of hail and waves of hurt rain down with the intent to drown, the flower gives up, defeated and lost.

The storm fades away, having given all it had to give. But the puddles remain; only time will evaporate those wells of tears and pain. The sky opens up, showing a hesitant, faded blue. The flower looks up, a spark of hope renewed. The sun shines brighter, a diamond under pressure. The flower gains assurance that everything will be okay. This will all be okay. You are okay.

The flower revives, excited to live its life, excited to see all it can see, excited to bloom and to grow. There the flower stands: petals fanned like reaching hands, drinking in the warmth of the sun— ready, for a new day has begun.

Rachel Mattson, Grade 8 Anoka Middle School for the Arts, Anoka Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali