Topic: "Flower Power (2)"
In the back of the Shire, just beyond the last of the azaleas, and hidden beneath an old dogwood, a patch of Crested Dwarf Iris have taken hold. Now in full bloom the pale blue miniature stands atop a separate two-inch stalk which offer each of them to the Sun. Inside there is a streak of yellow and a flash of purple on each petal. So small, so delicate, this is Frodo's favorite wildflower.
Frodo first noticed a patch of these wildflowers growing in the gravel alongside a road that was about to be paved. Clearly, the wildflowers were to be thoughtlessly sacrificed to the smoother drive of the motor cars that seem to multiply when asphalt appears. Tactically confident that he was not disturbing someone else's property, or moving something from the native wild, Frodo appeared with a flat shovel and a batch of that yesterday's newspaper. Gently, he removed the connected rhizomes as if they were the very definition of the word fragile.
The plants, wrapped in wet newspaper (thereby disproving almost any valueless charge offered by the Administration relative to the "liberal media"), accompanied Frodo on his return trip to the Shire. The first bed proved adequate, but over time the patch did not spread, and the flowers began to disappear. Frodo noted that, in the wild, the Crested Dwarves seemed to thrive in a shadier spot than that which he had chosen in the Shire. He moved them again. Unfortunately, that choice also yielded a further decline.
Finally, Frodo settled on the present location, which mixes periods of full sunshine with periods of full shade, with successful blossoming and a spreading patch as the result. Frodo looks admiringly at these gifts from the woodland and contemplates both their beauty and the lesson that something so fragile represents. When you take things out of the natural order, you had better be prepared to make adjustments time and again.
Doesn't say much for somebody who wants to "stay the course," does it?