A young girl twirls in field of flowers, she laughs and sings to her own tune. The simple scene is set with the sun high in the sky, and the scene will fade aways, only when it becomes dark. She dances and sings all day long, all month long, all season long. Her dance only changing to compliment the weather. Years go by, she ages and matures into a sweet dew, her dance still shining with a child like beauty. However, her dance is flawed, her once beautiful dance of youth and innocence has lost its white shine. In its place though, is the birth of a new color, a color still dim, yet bright enough to be seen. A pinkish red. A color of love. The field of flowers is filled with roses.

Her dance has become a delicate dance, on the edge of a knife her steps carefully gliding around the roses. It starts to rain. Her dance was fast now slows. But her grace does not. The slow dance halts. The rain grows heavy, her head falls. A tear falls from her eye. She begins her new dance slowly. The color is blue; no red is shown in her melancholy movements. The roses in the shape of a heart became cracked and separated as she danced through them with a angry sorrow, displeased by their shape. Her movements slow once more as she sees her destruction. More of her tears fall. She hurt the wonderful flowers, the flowers she cared for and adored. And so, for the first time in her lifetime here, she stopped her dance. Moved to damaged flowers, and corrected them. Cared for them, until they had life back into them, until then and only then, she resumed her dance. Her dance shown with a budding maturity, glorious understanding and a willpower, a willpower so bright, it outshines all of her sadness. leaving only puffy eyes and tear streaks to reveal her previous mood.

As she aged, the field grew. The field became stagnant. Overgrowth and many new flowers had set in to replace the missing foundation of song and dance that had once settled in. Only occasionally did that beauty appear to bless the land with graceful dance. Every time she came the dance was just as refined as the last. The only change was the reflection the dance showed of her. She was youthful once, but a mature steadiness replaced it. She left with understanding but came back with new questions. The one thing that never changed was her willpower of dance.

An aged lady walks the field of flowers. A small hand in hers. The lady says to the child: “do you know what is most important?”

The child squints her eyes at the question. She was promised a show of beauty, not a riddle. “Is it love?” She asked thinking of princesses in castles and their knights in shining armor.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

The lady smiles, mind reading the child. “What kind of love my dear?”

As if on cue the child begins her own fantastical story of being a princess and having a knight rescue her from some unknown danger.

“Romantic love. That is important. But is it the most important?” The lady says with a understanding in her eyes.

The child is confused when she answers with a no. The lady laughs simply enjoying the moment.

“The most important thing, is to stick to what you love. Even when times are tough.”

The lady lets go of the child's hand and begins a slow walk that begins to twirl. A hum is released into the air before becoming a song of words and love. The child is in awe simply amazed at seeing the lady dance so majestically.

As her dance ensues she says to the child, “I brought you here to show you my dance. That which no one else has seen. Do you know why?”

“Why?” The child says still shocked by the grace in the dance.

“To show you what I love. So you may love something or someone as much as I.” The lady says before continuing her graceful dance. The dance shows things it has not shown in a great time. Youth, melancholy, understanding, and even joy. To reflect her life she created a dance to entrance the child, to tell her life story to that child. She feels released after dancing for so long. And tells the most majestic tale with her song and dance. The child only comes out of her trance at sun down. The lady tells the child, “this place is hidden from prying eyes of vultures and full of gentle beauty. Tell me any time you would like to come here. For your study or even to just complain away from people, and I will bring you here.”

Time passes once more, and here we once more see a girl twirl. Slowly and poorly, but a twirl nonetheless. A laugh in the background and a correction comes out of old lady sitting on a chair. “You remind me of myself when my grandmother first brought me here. I was so enthralled by her dance I just had to try it. Did you feel the same?”

“Yes grandma” the child said shyly.

“Did you know what she said to me? In this field of flowers?”

No the grandchild responds.

“She wanted me to embrace and remain with what I loved. That which became dancing. I wanted you to have that knowledge as well. Hopefully what you take away is not dancing but knowing that staying with what you love is the one thing you will never regret in your life. No matter what it is.”

And so they twirled with a knowledge that few know and even fewer understand. The knowledge that is passed on generation by generation. Doing what you love is the most important thing in life