The Freeing of the Daisies

photo parke harris
During the days that follow a heavy rain the world seems to awaken from what can only be described as a grime induced slumber. Everything is rinsed of pollution and dust and becomes new shiny versions of their old forgotten selves. The paint on houses and cars gleam with renewed freshness. Trees seem to lift their limbs higher towards the sky. Indeed, the hand of nature has polished the world. Green has never looked so green and the vividness of everything glints in the eyes of the people. No longer kept prisoner under the thick nylon of so many umbrellas, they frolic along the sidewalks. At least as much as people actually can frolic in this city. OK, a much more reserved version of frolicking. But certainly within their minds they are spinning around like a million Julie Andrews.

Well most of them at least. Sam was not as elated as his neighbors about the lack of water falling from the skies above. In fact he was a little sad about the whole affair. He often enjoyed passing the time watching people run frantically from the safety of their vehicles into the store, or from their front doors to the mailbox as if moving faster will somehow magically create a shield protecting the runner. Now he had to deal with remembering to bring his sunglasses everywhere and to water the plants his girlfriend had unceremoniously abandoned when she left him. Or was it that she left the plants when she abandoned him? He could not decide who was more helpless, him or the vegetation. He considered this. Definitely there was a sadness about the Gerber daisies residing in a pot on the front step only a few feet from the actual earth. It seemed similar to a gorilla in captivity able to see the rolling green mountains through the steel bars of its cage. And this was the thought that ran through Sam’s head on this fine Saturday afternoon that caused him to feel a lurch in his stomach and thus rip the daisies out of the pot and begin to dig furiously with his hands at the front lawn. He glanced up at the fern hanging from the roof rim and considered what natural habitat of his yard would support the needs of the fern. Finally he broke through the thick layer of sod and found he had created a hole large enough for the daisies to rest in. He placed the red flowers into their new home and patted the earth around it. Suddenly he was tired, a nap would be nice. He would retire to his second hand couch as soon as he dealt with the fern.