The Geranium

(A Fable)

​When Spring adorned the world in a vibrant tapestry of blossoms, a Geranium bloomed in a clearing at the forest's edge. Gazing wonderingly at her surroundings, she thought, “How truly magnificent this world is!” At that precise moment, her eyes fell upon a bear trudging past with great effort, looking utterly spent.

​“You look quite unwell, do you not?” the Geranium called out.

​“Ah, winter lasted far too long. My entire body is stiff from such a grueling hibernation,” the bear grumbled, shuffling away. Not long after, a wolf emerged, his ribs protruding sharply from hunger.

​“How goes it with you?” asked the Geranium, still basking in the golden sunlight.

​“Can you not see? The winter was merciless; I have faced starvation day after day. I only hope for better times now,” the wolf rasped. With his head bowed low, he vanished into the shadows of the trees.

​The Geranium grew weary of such gloomy talk and turned to a nearby oak tree:

​“You, too, seem to have lost your vigor. Your branches are shattered, and your bark is scarred and ragged.”

​“These are the scars left by winter,” the oak replied sorrowfully. “When the heavy snow settled upon me, I could not bear the crushing weight, and many of my limbs snapped. Then, my bark was stripped away by the starving creatures of the woods.”

​After that, the Geranium had no desire to speak further. “No matter who I encounter, they all complain and lay the blame on this 'winter',” she mused. “I have been to this meadow before. I bloom here every season, yet not once have I seen this thing they call winter. It is surely a fabrication; they simply cannot find any other excuse for their failings. Whenever we arrive, there is nothing but glorious spring. The bear’s case is simple: if you lie idle for months, of course you will be famished. The wolf, too—always rushing about restlessly, it is no wonder nothing nourishes him. Even this old oak blames a make-believe season. He has likely just grown brittle with age. They are all the authors of their own misfortunes. Instead of whining, they should simply enjoy the beauty while they can.”

​Lost in these self-righteous thoughts, the Geranium looked out once more at the meadow, vibrant with color. In that exact moment, her gaze fell upon the cattle. They were approaching slowly and mindlessly, devouring everything in their path—the grass, the greenery, and the blossoms alike.