The Wild Flower
By Armando Garcia
It doesn’t grow in greenhouses, nurseries, or tended gardens, and survives on but a single season of rain. Borne of hardship it is tempered and thrives where the less hardy wither away.
The wildflower seed migrates riding the wind, the wind that recognizes no borders. When in foul moods, the wind casts the seed onto barren rock or wetlands, fating it to dry under a merciless sun or sink into the mire. When in good humor, the wind sets the seed onto arable land to germinate and rise tall and firm, but even here it may be consumed by grazing herds.
The migrant rides this angry or gentle wind to the land of opportunity. He makes his perilous odyssey leaving the barren ground of the homeland where his aspirations have long since been scattered by the arid storms of greed. He comes seeking those grueling labors that the less hardy are unable to do.
Desperate for a chance to sprout and grow, he pays smugglers to slip him into the land of eternal promise, but at times he is abandoned, and left to the fate of the wildflower seed drying in the desert under an unforgiving sun. At times he is swept away while attempting to cross the river of hope. And even when he succeeds at crossing, he often falls victim to the avarice of godless bosses.
But fueled by the dreams of earning a dignified life, he continues his arduous treks on, and on, and on. And the forever wind carries countless seeds of wildflowers to uncertain destinations, casting them over barren rock or sowing them over fertile loam.
Behold, how their blossoms in every color grace the land.
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