The bewildered bud

At some point, a bud will explode. We don't know if it is painful. Or why it happens. Or who decided that all buds will break open every spring, year after year. Yet, it happens and this is a story of a specific bud. One unwilling to transform, as the world enforced him to do. In a comfortable state, he wished for time to stop to keep him intact, and safe.

Since as long as he could remember, he had been a happy bud. He clung to his branch, not necessarily in a frightful manner. He rather sat there, happily watching days and nights pass by. He adored the wind, how it would swing him back and forth until that recognisable feeling in his guts would make him laugh. When he felt tired, he would lean his head towards the protecting branch and let her hold him softly.

Sometimes, a sound would wake him up in the middle of the night. He didn't like dark. The shadows, seen through his vivid imagination, always made him want to hide. But it is hard to hide if you are a bud. The confinement of your body is already quite contained and doesn't leave much room for other ways of being. A bud is in a way constantly hiding. But that is nothing our bud ever thought of, there. During the nights. When he was scared.

He much preferred the lightness of the days. When sunrise touched his cheek with a warmth he dearly enjoyed, that is when he felt joy. He loved the mornings. How the world would slowly come alive. How living things would stretch out, yawn and silently wonder what this new day might bring.

In the midst of this simple existence, although happy, the bud started to feel worried. He couldn't fully explain the reasons, nothing had truly changed. But a deep notion, somewhere in the midst of his budding heart, made him feel slightly different. He didn't like it. Where there had been complete harmony, he now felt some sort of distress. Where he would calmly rest on his loving branch, he would feel a distance growing, as if he wanted to move away, yet couldn't. And when he looked around, he was no longer hesitant. In a completely opposite manner he wanted to be somewhere else. He started to dream of a life elsewhere, yet not fully knowing where or how that would ever be possible. The bud was bewildered. In the most extreme way. His untamed heart beating for something else. Something he couldn't see, but knew he had to follow.

He worried for three long days. The pain sat there, on the branch with him. The agony was brutal, but maybe needed. We will never know. Then, on the fourth day, he broke. It happened fast, a rupture severe and decisive. And before he knew it, his insides spilled out. Sheer bowels made their way out of his frame, anatomically correct. And then somehow, what had used to be him, changed. The bud was no longer inside his protective case. His soul had moved to a leaf. It's really a strange thing. That someone can shift not only shape, but also space. For a long time he tried to remember, in which exact millisecond the move had happened. But the memory was gone. And after a few days he decided to just accept this new body of his. Because it did tremendous things.

In comparison to his earlier life, this was a new experience. One filled with delight. Suddenly, he could not only swing, he could sway, tremble and fly! A lightness made him filled with adventurous moments. He learned how to move with the sun, to digest its filling light. He managed the rains as if he had done nothing else. And he loved the winds, picking him up so he could surf, breeze in his hair.

The tale could continue, because in no way did his life story end here. A leaf is a leaf, it will fall. Not towards disaster. But towards a new chapter. However, for us, the fable ends here. To live bewildered is only the start of an extraordinary journey. A necessary state, unless you want to stay a bud forever.

Oh!, one last thing. Do not, at any time, pick a bud. You never know who's dream you might be interrupting.