The Blue Flower

“And one incident in particular never fails to bring a lump to the throat when I remember it. I was travelling along a one-lane road with a friend when a teacher with a trail of very young children, obviously on a nature walk, waved to us.

My friend, who was driving, pulled over, and the children — all around three or four years old, rushed up to the car, encouraged by their teacher, anxious to tell what they had seen. My arm was outside the window — and a little girl with eyes like stars patted it until I turned my attention to her. She put her face close to mine and whispered in a voice filled with astonishment, joy, wonder, “I found a flower.”

I guess I didn’t react as swiftly or in as satisfying a manner as she had expected, because she came a little closer and whispered with even greater portent, “A blue flower.” It occupied her, this discovery. Joy inhabited her. I smiled, told her that this was a wonderful thing, and tried not to let the sudden tears in my eyes, spill over. Satisfied that she had passed on a message of vital significance, she started to wander back to her friends.

“Tell the nice lady your name and where you live,” said the teacher, eager to initiate a little lesson. It took a lot for me not to shout, “No, no, no — Never tell a stranger your name and where you live. Never rush up to a car that pulls over, close to where you are, and never talk to strangers.” But this isn’t LA. This is rural Wales. I don’t make the rules here. These children don’t realise what they are missing in the outer world and how lucky they are to be missing it.

And if you’re from an American city, like I am, you could probably count a dozen things in the previous paragraph that would never, could never, happen where you live.”

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