The teacher dreaded the summer heat and regretted not changing out of his pressed white shirt before laying on his stomach in the field. He stared the little flower in the face.
“Lily, tell me what you do all day.”
“I gaze at my beloved,” she looked over her ring of pedals.
“Why though? Surely, you could take a nap or knit or read a book?”
“He gives me light so that I can see him.”
Lily turned away from the teacher, back to the sun above her.
“And without him, the darkness would surely strangle you,” the flower whispered.