The Loneliness of the Firsts of Things
Sunflower One burst through the grass into jurassic dragonflyville.
'Good Lord!' she thought. ‘Everything is so old.
I don't know what to think. Somebody get me a cup of coffee.'
Being the very first of her kind, the primordial world of berries
and -saurus was more difficult to bear than it would have been
had she a friend to share things.
And the Earth, being the strangewild land it was in those days,
coffee was not forthcoming.
Sunflower One beheld the world.
Clouds of dust motes drifted by, lighted by the sideways sun,
like a pride of fireflions. Old things skulked in the underbrush.
'Oh dear,' thought Sunflower One,
'That little scurrying creature is my heart
on four legs, because I have roots, and anything with roots dreams of freedom.
I wonder if it works the other way around?’
How strange it is to be something new in an old, old world.
Final Dinosaur, on his arthritic enfeebled legs,
was on his way to lunch by the stream when he saw the new thing.
'Oh,' he said to himself. ‘Here is a new thing.
Somebody get me a cup of coffee. I can hardly bear it.'
But the venerable old world, being the geriatric disaster that it was in those days,
coffee was not forthcoming.
Final Dinosaur had no friends left, being the last of his kind,
and he decided to postpone lunch in order to parlay with the newcomer.
'You are the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen (and I am very old).
I will call you sunflower.'
Sunflower One, not having a mouth, said nothing.
'You are new. How hopeful it is to see a new and rare and solitary thing, in this old, old world!
I will wait until nightfall, to see if you glow in the dark.'
For what is a star, but an insomniac sun?
Last Dinosaur spent the night in darkness, and upon sunrise,
Rose, and spoke.
'Sunflower One, here I will speak to you, and give you advice,
because you are alone, and I know how it is to live terribly alone.
First, you must be a weatherman for your own heart.
Some hearts are happy deserts and some are not,
and we, my dear, are the Amazon incarnate.
We rain. You have to be a weatherman for your heart.
Next, you must be patient--you especially must be patient, because you are one of those special creatures who are by nature alone, and you have roots.
My heart longs for roots.
After you learn patience, you must, for the love of god,
discover the sacred art of coffee, for being the Last,
I can see forward, and coffee is a blessed thing.
Start brewing, Sunflower One. My time is over:
Tag, you're it.'
And so it was that Last Dinosaur lay down by the stream,
and with a cry of birthpain, was not.
And over time Sunflower One watched him turn into soil,
and felt his strength in her roots,
and she grew tall by the light of a new-young sun,
and burst into a world of color and light,
and the moon's shine was young again, and trees were green again,
and the fizzy craze of sunbright rays swept all the wrinkles from the valleys and mountains
and took all the liverspots from tree's knots,
and soon Oak A came into being,
and Mammal Original gave birth to babies
(and they crept close in their furrowed burrows),
and masonbees found their stripes,
and the world was brave again,
and Sunflower One,
who was now old,
said 'Get me a coffee! and make it bold.'
And Coffee Bean Alpha said,
About the Creator
I am a writer and musician living in Arizona. I write about weird specific emotions I feel. I didn't like high school. I eat out too much. I stand 5'11" in basketball shoes.
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