A serene gracefulness continues as each leans and whispers to its neighbor. In a world of white petals, all the faces shimmer with the breeze but still shine full of golden glory. Pure fulfillment, pure sacrifice. As each bows its head for the day, wispy arms become plastered to a soft and crumbling bed of soil by a twinkling rain. It comes just as soon as it skitters away by a push of blinding rays. The faces are grandly joyful once more.

Then the air is thick with tiny parachutes as the windy shower howls back to the night. Each turns to the south and finds themselves enchanted by the large crowd for the few seconds in which the wind presents its argument. The majority will cheer the sun; a scattered few, those already dying, will decide otherwise.

There is the narcissistic one; he remains distant and refuses to join in the songs of the group around him. The pale ones despise it. Like a true tragic hero, he keeps his head held high through all conditions, but destiny soon overcomes him. He cannont change his stars and they still stare back at him night by night. He is choked down to the root, yet spirit cannot be denied at least one last breath of hope.

Dandelion among the daises; he suffers but does not die out at the end of this peril. He has, after all, been scattered by the wind. Indeed a part of him may rise again in a place not so dominated by the trite comings and goings of manipulated convictions.

We will wait.