MXC

  (Sequel to the Protectors.)

  The Shayna Rose.

No, not Red... She isn’t proud. She doesn’t see herself as beautiful or treasured. Not White. She thinks she can’t be that pure. And certainly not Yellow. Because she believes she’ll never be that happy, that no one can ever make her that happy.

She is the warm colors of fall. Bronze, chocolate, and the tips of her majestic petals are a deep burgundy...Tall, wild, untrimmed, untamed. At first glance, you see only a simple wild rose, same as the others that surround her...

But then, when the sunlight hits her, and all she tries to hide, you can see, you then see she is not...

She is more beautiful in the light. Where nothing is hidden...

You want to learn her.

Her many, wide, curling, rough, jagged leaves are her defense. Protection. Protection from the outside. Protection from others. Whenever they reach out for the Sun, they retreat in fear of getting burned.

Her fierce thorns are her fears. They were formed over time; from the life she lives, and will have to be lost over time. Fears that keep you from her...

So you retreat. And you watch. Each day she becomes more beautifully breathtaking to your eyes. Her petals spread, catching more light, highlighting her splendor. Her hesitant leaves begin to open, fueling her growth as she drinks in the world around her.

Still, you watch...Her thorns are still fierce and her defenses can go up at any time. They keep you at bay...But you don’t mind watching. If that is all you ever get to do you are still content.

One day a storm comes, a storm that terrifies and breaks her. A few of her glorious petals fall, with them so does her defenses. You immediately go to her.  You gingerly take her from her throne, place her in a crystal cup, and mend her wounds by giving her sweet water and sunlight. You slowly trim away her untamed leaves, and bit by bit you try to help her lose her thorns, thorns that hide her magnificent beauty...

After a time, when you have learned even though she accepts your help, but does not want it, and her thorns, no matter their lesser numbers, strike you. You have to let her be. You place her back in her home, where she belongs.

She is not the common red, the tamed white, or the vibrant yellow rose that sits by your bedside, adorns your table, dwells in your garden.

She is a wild rose.

Colors of the Earth and Sun themselves. A Spirit that refuses to be tamed. With defenses and fears no mere man can hope to break.

You still watch her though. You watch your wild rose, keeping the storms away, and keeping harm from befalling her. You must keep your distance; you never got to remove every thorn. And you mustn’t let her know you watch, because she should see herself as wild.

And maybe, one day, after you’ve seen her grow in splendor, in life, she’ll let you get a little closer. And maybe, one day, after your heart has ached over your wild rose, you’ll get to feel her smooth, perfect petals. Maybe one day you’ll even gain her trust. You’ll be able to behold her and hold her without restraint, her thorns gone. Maybe, one day, she’ll let you give her something, her own garden, where she’ll have all the sunlight she can drink and all the air she wants, filling it with her sweet scent.

Maybe, one day, she’ll let you in.

But...Until then you watch. You’ve always watched, patiently, lovingly, knowing that may never come...That you’ll never get your wild rose.

And yet, still....

I watch.                                                                      

                       Michael Xsaber Cobalasik.