The Green Tiara

Whose child is the wind?
One can see, touch, and hear it.
From where does it come?
The hot and sultry winds of August, heavy with clinging dampness, blew over the well-clipped company grounds. Lush, green, palm trees stood proudly against the transparent blue of the sky, like honor guards hovering over the city.
The sky flashed brilliant, then turned a misty black. A small, verdant palm tree embraced the wind, and stroked it as if it were some immense beast that rubbed against her.
“Look, Mother, I’m hugging the wind!”
“So you are my dear,” her mother laughed.
Both plants were well-cared for on the company grounds. They were surrounded by emerald colored grass and rare specimen plants, as well as by other beautifully tended trees.
Toward the edge of the company grounds the grass was brown and tinder dry. An old palm grew there, looking fragile in the dry air and dryer weeds. A few of her fronds were a faded green, but others were crackly brown, with tattered edges that waved feverishly in the breeze.
A well-manicured and carefully trimmed tree, who wore her leaves like a stylish gown, grew nearby. The other trees and plants called her The Dainty Lady.
“My child, keep your fronds away from that ugly, old palm tree. You never know what you might pick up from someone like that.”
As if the lightening loosened her rage, and the thunder gave her a voice, the ragged palm loomed over The Dainty Lady. “And what would you be in this climate if men didn’t tend to your every need and manicure and style your every branch?”
Then she looked at the young palm tree and spoke gently. “Child, don’t depend on man. No, I’m not pretty, but I need no one, and I have found my own source of water, small as it is. My roots are long and deep. I survive! When men are tired of that one,” she nodded toward Dainty Lady, they’ll toss her aside for a different, prettier, plant.
Her voice grew raspy from speaking so long. “Find your own water source and thrust your roots down deep into the earth. And be proud, my dear! Men depend on us for the very breath they breathe, for only plants can bring forth oxygen. In a way, the breeze IS your playmate, because it is made mostly of oxygen which comes from plants. We are royalty in nature. Only plants can produce oxygen. Your leaves are your tiara and they are encrusted with oxygen, the most precious jewel of them all!”
A newspaper, carried by the wind, caught in a bush. The headlines told of another oil spill devastating plant and animal life in the ocean. “Grow strong and live long, child,” the old tree murmured. “So much depends on us.”
Suddenly, lightning ripped from the sky and struck the tall, weathered tree! It tottered in the air, and for moment it almost seemed as if the wind would hold it up…but then it came crashing down. The young palm tree shook and the Dainty Lady tittered. Men came rushing from the buildings. Someone shouted, “Look, lightning struck that old tree.” “It’s just as well,” someone answered. “Its appearance was taking away from our landscaping.”