the woman made of flowers

The wizzard was a lonely man.

He made a wife of flowers.  She was as gentle as dew and as fair as dawn. The wizzard was pleased with himself.  The hours he spent away from his working were no longer hollow and dull.  His wife was a joy.

When he was away, she amused herself, watching the flowers, her sisters and admiring the sun and the clouds.  The birds sang to the woman of flowers and the breeze spoke to her petal ears.  The butterflies kissed her with tickling touches, and she was beloved of bees.

[yada yada yada.  the wizzard finally grew tired of playing with his wife, and wanted more from her.  He began to teach her in his spare time.  He taught her to do things around the house, and he taught her language.  He taught her to read and to play music to amuse him.

For years they went along this way.  the wizzard derived great pleasure from the teaching.  And as she grew in knowledge, they spent many long hours in conversation and agreeable disagreement.  She was the perfect companion, neither wiser than her friend nor unwilling to hear his ideas and to learn, but able to differ, agreeably.

And the wizzard spent the hours away from his work teaching and conversing with his perfect wife, and when he was working, she sang to herself and played on the harp and read from her husband’s library and stood in the rainfall and spoke with the flowers and sang with the birds and listened to the breezes and laughed at the butterflies and loved the bees.

yadayadayada

In time she becomes lonely while her husband is working and working and working.  He has become bored with her company and spends longer away.

The woman made of flowers made a man of bees.