Sundew, Butterwort and Ladyslipper

In this lush spot in the forest thrived flowers and plants of many species. The large, heavy boulder was almost overgrown, but not more than that one could see it was there. It had been there for a long time and was dry and bleached by the sun. But by putting hands on the stone deep down in the foliage, one could feel a refreshing moisture.

Down in the ground under the stone bubbled a spring that despite the weight of the stone found its way up, here and there, and it was the refreshing and perfectly clean water from the spring, which made the soil so fertile. And it held no breaks. Around the clock, even year round, it was active and the ground suffered from it, for it was a lot of pressure, the spring exerted from below, and a big pressure of the stone from above. The ground would wish that the stone was removed, so the spring could get free outlet.

Among the flowers one quickly noticed the orchids and the meat-eating flowers, sundew and butterwort, for they were all to classify as exotic, at least in this region. There were also poppies nearby and a few sunflowers. Among the vegetables were ferns most represented, but grass, nettles and many other species thrived too.

In one of the open sunflowers lay two elves with hands interlaced behind their heads. They lay beautiful, the sunflower was better than a box mattress, and it swayed gently as a well ‘brought up’ hammock. And by turning occasionally one avoided easy to get burned by the sun. The trees also took off for the sun, so only the best of the best reached the elves. For them, life couldn’t be better, because everything was as everything always should be.

But the ground under the stone panted at the constant pressure it was always exposed to and suddenly intercepted one elf vibrations of its longing for deliverance.

“Listen,” he said and pulled his hands out from under his head which he simultaneously lifted slightly. “Something has whispered to me that the ground needs help.” He sat up and looked around, inquiring listening. “The stone should be gone. It’s for sure. Why, I do not know yet, but I know it should be gone.”

“I have a certificate to bumblebee,” said the other elf. “Maybe we should try if we could tie a noose around the stone and then fly it out to the lake’s center and make a big splash there. I think the fish could benefit from it. Around such a stone will be many playgrounds, housing and hiding places.”

“It is both too large and too heavy for a bumblebee. No. I will send an elf-telepathy-sms to the Muses. They know so much about everything between heaven and earth. Clio is probably the one who knows who or what it takes to eliminate a large and heavy boulder.”

“Look, there’s a little girl with long hair over by the stone. She is doing something over it, and her hair almost hides it. Now she holds her hands up to her face, as if she’s crying. Let’s go and see what’s going on.”

The girl sat and wove a garland when they reached her. They could see she had been crying, although she looked happy and carefree. Her eyes sparkled as if the night’s brightest stars lived there and she smiled so lovely that every heart that saw it, had to tremble.

“Where is the boulder?” said one of the elves. There was no trace of it. Grass, ferns, sundews, butterworts, ladyslippers and orchids, grown where the stone had been and vertically, in water jets, jumped the most beautiful spring.

“What boulder? I do not see any boulder,” said the girl, smiling. “But drink of the holy spring here, so you can’t get sick for many, many years, and you can even heal others, if you lay your hands on the sick place.”

There came a calling, with overtones of silver bell sounds, and the girl got up, put the garland on her head and began to run toward a clearing in the woods.

“Wait,” shouted the elves, “can we meet again?”

While the girl ran, she shook her head, and it could sound as if she replied:

“No, no, Clio must home and write new tales.”