Do you know the woman with flowers growing in her purse?
Yes, ever since she was a little girl she has always carried her purse with her.
From time to time she peeks in to see the flowers growing inside.
That’s right, flowers. Growing. Inside. Small and stunted from being cramped inside, but they have just enough dirt and air to survive.
How long has it been since these flowers began to grow? She can’t remember now.
But she knows that she has to keep them safe. Inside. Hidden.
Because she does remember the time before she began to carry the purse. Even though she has tried to forget.
When she was just a little girl, living in a house by a big green field.
One day in the garage she found a little envelope of flower seeds, and she carefully planted some of them in a special spot in the field.
And she watered them and waited patiently, and little shoots began to poke out of the dirt. The shoots grew larger and larger and taller and taller, until they were taller than her.
And then flowers. Red and pink and purple and yellow and white. She had never seen anything so beautiful. And each day she would come to look at them with joy.
But the weather became colder and one day they began to wilt, and then the petals fell, and the stalks withered up.
The little girl cried and cried. The flowers were gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. She decided to save the rest of the seeds in the envelope and keep them safe.
That winter her family moved out of the house by the big green field and into the city.
Her mother gave her one of her old purses to play with, and so the little girl put some dirt in the bottom of the purse and planted the rest of the seeds from the little envelope. She watered them and kept the purse safe, and soon little sprouts began to grow.
The flowers that grew in the purse were small and frail and their colors were dull, but they stayed alive under the little girl’s careful attention.
And for years she watched over them, bringing them with her wherever she went, but always keeping them inside her purse.
When she opened the purse, the flowers would talk to her, saying, “We want to be free to send our roots deep into the ground and spread our leaves out wide and turn our petals up to the sun!”
But the girl would tell them, “Yes my flowers, but it’s not safe. You will die, and then I will be all alone! I will keep you inside where it is safe.”
And the girl grew into a woman. She got a job in an office building and went to work with her purse, but she never made friends. She never let anyone get too close, because what if they died or left her like those first flowers had?
She had the flowers inside her purse to keep her company, and she kept watering them and adding new soil when needed, and they stayed alive. Cramped, stunted, but alive.
Until today, on her 55th birthday.
There is no one to celebrate with, and she has a crazy idea.
She feels a yearning to go back to that big green field.
She has felt it many times over the years, but her sadness always kept her from going back.
Until today.
That’s right, today she gets on the train as the sun is rising, heading out into the countryside.
The woman holds her purse close to her, with the flowers inside.
The hours pass, and in the afternoon she arrives in the small town.
Everything seems smaller now, so many years later.
She still knows the way. As she walks down the streets, the memories come back.
And she comes to the dirt road. She feels the sadness coming, but she continues. She is pulled by a force stronger than her sadness.
And she arrives at the house now.
And the green field…
But there is no green field.
She walks closer, and stands at the edge of a sea of red and pink and purple and yellow and white.
Flowers.
Yes, the whole field is filled with the brightest, boldest, tallest, most vibrant flowers.
She had seen the flowers die all those years ago, but she hadn’t seen the seeds that they dropped as they had wilted.
And they had lived on and on, and thrived, and spread.
They had not really died, they were just going through their own cycle.
And now she understands.
Tears are running down her face, for the first time in so long.
She looks down at her purse, at the flowers she has been keeping inside for all these years.
She knows they cannot stay inside any longer.
She finds a patch of dirt on the edge of the field, and sets her purse down. She carefully takes each flower from inside and plants it in the ground.
They are small and frail, but they are so happy to be planted here. Free.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” sing the flowers.
The woman smiles and laughs and cries and her tears fall and water the flowers.
She sings and dances and talks with the flowers until the sun sets.
And she, too, feels joyful and free.