Yearning

By Tina Wingham

In the cool brush beneath a tall, strong oak tree, a single bud strained toward a small shard of light.

Moss thrived and ivy whispered of endless green, but the flower dreamed of warmth.

Each dawn, she unfurled another petal—pale, trembling, stubborn.

The shade mocked her, the wind blasted her; yet she reached higher still.

One morning, the sun slipped through a gap in the leaves, spilling gold across her face.

It was only a moment—but in that moment she bloomed, radiant and defiant.

The forest watched silently, as the delicate flower dared to live where light barely lingered.