Hanakotoba

Unbridled, she watched them as a self of action, the climb to the top, the scramble over each other; their hope to sway her and reach the swing. It felt like home here, that sense of warmth and play, the very fabric of her day, their need to pull her in. Yet, none of it mattered, she was simply there to do her thing. Like the magnolias that returned each year to wrap themselves around the tree, she had shown herself to be a continual bloom, floating up in the air, the back and forth of energy in motion how it easily blended amid the sweet floral scent of the falling petals. She was the amaranthine, a flower of undying quality and a beauty to behold. She always brought a gentle breeze, knowing it sent them giddy from its perfume, so unaware of the timelessness to which she belonged. Its why they could never really reach out to her on that swing.

Within this strange numinous beauty of the ancient tree, she had become a part of the spiritual calling: Messages for only which she could hear. "Bring me the songs that you so want to sing, show me the love that I feel in your heart, open your eyes so that you may see into minds, and follow the language of the Hanakotoba, for it is all of this that will bring stories of which no longer can keep us apart. 

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