There once was a boy who loved swords.He wasn’t old enough for a metal sword wooden ones were more than adequate. They would be swung around his head. He’d spin and thrust. He’d leap forward, twist and swing the sword. His wrist would twist and push the sword forward. He’d jump and reach upwards. He’d land and position.
Combing moves up and down the lawn he would dance. This way and that, backwards, forwards and sideways
In a world of his own he was entranced by the motion and the movement.
There was a gardener who would watch as he choreographed his moves, smiling at the pleasure dance.
The gardener had been trying to grow a particular flower, a tall slender flower with a multi-floral bloom at the top, an Agapanthus known romantically as the African Lily. The gardener had seen others grow these floral delights but had only managed to grow leaves until this particular year. This year one of the plants decided that it liked it’s location enough to burst into bloom. Upwards it pushed it’s long stem and moved it’s buds into position. The gardener watched as the buds steadily filled out ready to blossom.
Then one day, as you’ve probably already guessed, the boy with the sword walked up to the gardener and handed him the decapitated stem and buds. They were close to bursting, but they wouldn’t get the opportunity, this was not to be their year.
The gardener looked at the stem and looked at the boy and thought about all of the enjoyment that the boy had gained from his dancing and considered it a small price to pay. He looked at the boy and he laughed. African Lily would have to wait for another year.
Many years would pass and the boy would no longer dance around the lawn with his sword. The gardener would, eventually, grow another tall slender stem and watch the buds move into position. Maybe, just maybe he’ll watch them bloom but even if they don’t he’ll think about that boy with his sword and laugh.