The Miracle Rose

Out in the wasteland a man once owned an arid piece of land. It was dry and dusty and nothing ever grew out there except for the thorns and thistle of hardship and strife. The dry wind stirred the red dust of the plains and land was a true desert of hopeless misery and misfortune. The place was deserted and lonely, always with hardly a drop of rain that fell on the dry and fruitless earth. The place was called the wasteland and no-one lived out there except for the lonely old man and the restless wind of the veld and the desert. ‘Nothing will ever grow in this dry and dusty farm of mine except of the thorns and thistles of life.’ said the man sadly to himself one day and turned away from the barren land that was his only home. Yet one day a small seed was carried by the lonely winds of time and settled on the dusty plain. It was covered by the sand and the dust as the wind blew gently on the plains and was thus buried deep beneath the earth soon thereafter. After a few months a great storm arose and much rain fell once more on the dry and dusty plains soaking it to the bone. A wet and windy landscape was left behind where the green shoots of desert grass soon sprung up. And among this new found field of green the tiny seed that was left behind by the traveling wind also germinated soon thereafter and when the old man went out one morning early, he found the most splendid red desert rose had sprung up overnight among his barren farm of thorns. Between the shrubby growth of thorns and thistles there now blooms the most splendid red rose of beauty and love that anyone had ever seen. Never say never for miracles never tend to cease after all. True magic is only a breath of wonder away.