Gone is the Gold: A Happiness Tale
As the morning mist lifted, the little goldenrod looked around the meadow. All but a few wisps of gold remained. She and her fellows were white and feathery now. She smiled.
The flowering had been wonderful. She thought for a while about the summer’s warmth and the way the morning dew glistened on the petals of her fragrant flowers. How she had loved the visits from the bees, with their big furry bodies and gossamer wings. She laughed a bit, recalling how their feet tickled her as they gathered her pollen.
But this time was the best.
As she caught her thoughts, she laughed again. I’m always saying that, she giggled. “This time is the best.” Well, it is! Just look at all these seeds! Look at the way they float through the air, going out in the great world to find their own places. One winter’s sleep, and they’ll awaken and carry on our song.
That was, of course, her whole mission—to be a vehicle for the song, to sing it in this meadow, to play her part in the great chorus of the seasons.
And as she watched her seeds go forth, she felt a great fulfillment and peace. Yes, she thought, this moment, so filled with perfection, was the best, the very best.
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