⏱ ~3 min reading
A tulip grew in my grandmother's garden. It was the only one of its kind—the others had already faded, but this one stood between a bed of dill and a bush of marigolds, still green and tightly closed.
Sofiyka came to him every morning. She lived with her grandmother in the summer - and every morning walk began with this bud.
— Grandma, it's closed again!
Grandma would come out onto the porch with a mug of tea. Her hair was still in a bun—that's how she always went in the morning.
"What did you want, swallow?"
"I want to see what it's like inside. Red? Yellow? Maybe pink?"
— You'll find out.
— And when?
— When it opens itself.
Sofia didn't like it. She leaned closer to the bud. The green petals were tightly pressed together, like the flaps of a small shell. The girl carefully touched it with her finger.
«What if I spread it out a little?» she thought.
The fingers stretched themselves. But suddenly I heard my grandmother's voice behind my shoulders.
— Sofiyko. Come here.
The girl ran to the porch. Grandma sat her down next to her and gave her a cup of tea — with chamomile and a spoonful of honey.
"You know, I was once just like you. And I had a bud too. A peony. I looked at it every day - and I wanted to see what it was like. I couldn't stand it.".
"And what did you do?"
Grandma smiled—somewhere in her eyes, a little spark from childhood shone.
— I unfolded the petals.
"And? What was it?"
"Nothing happened, swallow. The bud has withered. I broke it off before it became a flower.".
Sofiyka lowered her eyes. She looked at her fingers - the same ones that had just reached for the green bud.
— What was needed?
— To wait. The tulip knows itself — when the sun, when the water, when the wind. It gathers itself. It opens when it is ready. We are only guests in its time.
Sofiyka was silent for a while. And then she asked:
"What should I do then?"
"Water it. Talk to it if you want. Listen to the rustling of the leaves. But don't touch the petals.".
Sophie nodded.
The bud stood green for three days. Every morning, Sofiyka brought a watering can. She watered the ground around it. She whispered to him softly, "I'll wait.".
On the fourth day, when she ran out onto the porch, the tulip stood open. Red as a holiday. Inside was a black center, like a tiny coal. The petals were glistening with morning dew.
Sophie looked at it for a long time.
"Grandma! It's red!"
Grandma came out with a towel in her hand.
"You see. He waited for you. And you waited for him.".
Sofiyka carefully sniffed the tulip. It didn't smell very strong—just subtle, like spring after a long rain.
"Grandma. I won't break it.".
— I know, my swallow. I know.
💡 Beauty is revealed in its own time.