The Flower on the Lamppost

"The Night has arrived, my dear"

Shafts of light from the rays of the rising sun had discomfited the shadows cast during the reign of the night and the old lady wasn't present where the bloom had last seen her. Instead, in her place, was the cloth that had sheltered her, driven away by the winds that had overshadowed the peace of midnight.

She gazed to find a single leaf, fade and dry, floating midair. It was fascinating, since it was a sight she'd never before beheld. She appraised it to find thin silver stings, looking almost ethereal, in different patterns around it, holding the leaf in place, causing it to seem as if it was flying.

The beauty of the very sight of the natural threads with beads of water glinting in the light being the only testament of their invisible presence was a sight that summoned her admiration. The strings seemed to be accurately detailed, being the very life of a passing spider that spun them with the purpose of its entire existence. Finely woven, artlessly emanated, cobwebs lining every enclosed and unattended corner, tiny droplets of water adorning its lines like diamonds embedded upon strings of silver, yet no one praised the beauty it displayed.
Whilst curiously watching the spectacular sight, she was wooed by the chirpy sound of happy whistling. A little boy skipped along the side parallel to the street, whistling some vibrant tune that captivated the attention of every passerby. A bunch of papers with calligraphic script was held in his possession like he would deliver them to those who wished to know what news would meet their knowledge.
Ignorance truly is bliss for the truth possessed an ugly countenance sometimes, a bitter drink to sip and a heavy sore to carry. But most chose to know, for the weight of uncertainty was much greater and harder a burden to bear. Chance, granting the benefit of a doubt was what made it as difficult. The possibility of fortune even in the glooms of sorrow can cause deeper a heartbreak when the cruelty of Truth showed its face. False hope, a fatal wound upon the heart of man, a distortion that plagued the ocean of reality with spills of tasteful deception.

And yet, with all that raw news inscribed upon the leaves of booklets, the happy child pranced around, giving the man who looked into his eyes a pleasant smile as he skipped along. The man paused for a moment, till the boy's smile brewed one on his own face.

The man smiled too as he proceeded down the street, till he granted it to a lady passing by, doffing his hat. The lady smiled back warmly, the pleasantness thereof continuing to reside in her heart as she smiled and nodded to a girl that walked by, gesturing a little compliment to her attire. The girl took the smile and passed it over to an elderly man that brushed past her, helping him hold his stance when he almost tipped over. A pleasant greeting and the two went their own separate ways as cordial strangers, the old man pulling a little flower from his coat and giving it to a little child whose toothless smile seemed a reflection of his own.

A simple and merry smile had ignited this blaze, carried on like a tradition passed down several generations, a spark that was lit from candle to candle, a flicker that flared a forest afire, just a smile and yet, so contagious, swift evolving as buds unfurling in the season of spring.

This world had so much more beauty than people chose to see.

She showered a fading fragrance down, what remained of her spent life and youth exhausted, simply blithe as if she was in the mood for a lullaby. The pleasantness persisted by her side till the day passed sleeplessly, her gazing at all the beauty around her.

Her spritely mood was failing her with the building rise of the cold when the day was nearing its night. The hues of eventide began to conquer the skies like paint out of a brush when immersed into a cup of crystalline water.

Hours faded into the abyss of past time as she eagerly waited to see the kind old man, her life barely held in the tip of her petals as the cold was growing stronger than she could bear, since he had always brought her joy, just as she did to him. She saw him approach, the box of candles with him. He climbed closer and removed the candle from last night and lit one anew. There was a comfortable amount of warmth. She hoped he would pay attention that she possibly looked healthier that she had yestreen, but his thoughts seemed preoccupied, his expression reflective.