I stare at the ceiling, wondering if it is 1 or 2 PM. At the corner of the table is a kerosene lantern, not used for many years. I light it and walk into the night. The creatures of the night hush at the sound of footsteps, but the persistent buzz of a bee holds my attention. The bee hovers around a wild plant; an orange bud. The bud sleeps on, unheeding the bee’s buzz and noise. But, the bee does not give up. It sits on the leaves and bends towards the bud, shaking it. Suddenly, there is a loud hiss. It is not the bee, but the flower. It opens up to reveal a yellow inner part, further illuminated by the lamp. The bee moves home and rekindles in my heart the hope to live.
Lina looked at the aging blossom in her balcony, eagerly sucking up every drop of rain nature had to offer. The edges of its petals were dark and she could see small holes in the rose. But, it persistently held on. Lina did not know how long she could persist. She thought back to when she was healthy, young, and idle. Now she wanted to make everyday count, no matter how numbered her days were. Determined, she limped painfully from her coffee table to her laptop. Even the morose Robin of the Willow sang with unusual energy and vigor.