In Bloom

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There once was a young goddess with rosy cheeks and honey hair. She roamed fields of gold and emerald, twirled with cool, caressing winds, and drank every last ray of the sun till she was dizzy with happiness and warmth. She adored the Sun with reverence, lounging on beds of grass while blinking lazily up at its golden brilliance. In return, the Sun doted upon the woman with equal devotion. With every sunrise brought excitement and joy as his rays chased her across plain fields, yearning to touch the mystical young goddess, whom chased his racing, outstretched arms. Sunsets brought pain upon them both; his descent into the horizon left her with melancholy, as did any hour without his presence.
One chilling night the goddess straddled the bare branch of a naked tree, staring wistfully upon the Moon, waiting upon its twin to finally rise. From below, a raspy voice called.
“Blossom!”
The goddess jerked in surprise. She often found solace in the quiet fields; the only place she believed she could truly run free. At home she curled herself into a nearly tight ball, waiting and waiting for the perfect moment to burst away. Her patience was bountiful and rewarding.
“What is it?” She called back distantly. Her bright eyes, swirling with a myriad of colors more than the rainbow collected, had returned to the view of the stars-not too far off from her Sun.
Her sister scowled. The goddess of the biting winds lashed a current that rattled the branches like a bag of bones. Goosebumps broke out upon Blossom’s arms.
“Come down here at once! You must return home and live with the rest of us; there is not time to frolic on this dirty soil for a goddess of your nature.”
“You know nothing of my nature,” Blossom sighed, feeling herself shrinking in upon herself with icy anxiety. The last of her beloved Sun’s warmth leaked from her pores like sap.
“Nonsense. We are both facets of nature; I know your every view.” Winteress hissed with a freezing gale. “Why is it you abandon your own for this greedy Earth? Is it that unrelenting Sun? He, who slips away every time I come to pass? You would betray your own kin for some thief of warmth?”
Blossom curled her knees to her chest and tucked her chin into her crossed arms to preserve some ounce of warmth. “You only have yourself to blame for your actions. It is not his fault your time spent upon this Earth causes it to empty and die. It is your own fault he flees-your ugly touch deserves no warmth, no encouraged life. You envy me.”
Howling gusts of frigid air whipped from below Blossom, pulling at her hair and clothes and very skin. The young goddess caved in upon herself, neatly curling into a speck the size of a seed as the chilling whirlwinds enveloped her in a cocoon of stillness.
For months Winteress marched upon the Earth, mocking her foolish sibling and cursing the running Sun, whom slipped from the horizon as quickly as he dared. Trees were as bare as newborns; snow caged the Earth and the young Blossom herself, tucked deep into the Earth’s crust, clawing for warmth upon the surface. Finally, when Winteress had enough of the despicable land and the animosity, she fled to the home of the gods in the heavens. It was then Blossom emerged from the cold, unyielding soil. The Sun, overjoyed for her return, stretched his plentiful rays upon the land. Blossom returned his love, running across the fields for months, where in her wake life bounced and shone, stretching its petals, leaves, and sweet fragrance to the generous Sun in thanks, before Winteress descended one more to chide her spirited sister.





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