The Architect of Bloom

The Architect of Bloom, or A.B. for short, had 7 apprentices - all assigned to her by the Overseer of Botany. They were sent to her sporadically, at all times of the year, at odd points of her life. The apprentices were there to acquire from her the training needed to become junior Flower Makers; eventually the Overseer would remove them from her care and assign them to distant pastures.

A.B. knew this, yet this understanding did not dull the fact that it was difficult for her to part with things, with people. Years in cultivation had not yet eroded within her this idea of permanence. She desired to keep, to hold, to protect everything, always - but such was not the nature of her existence. Time and time again she was forced to relinquish, to let go, to surrender where she intended to enfold.

This was A.B.'s fourth rotation serving in this role and this constant loop of grow and go exhausted her. The mentorship aspect of flower making that had once cultivated great tenderness in her, had become sharp to hold. The piercing edges of a looming goodbye toughened her against every new apprentice that appeared before her with the genuine eagerness of starting something new, of exploring, of growing. They all left, eventually.

So A.B. shielded herself against this recurring sorrow by pouring every ounce of her care into the flowers themselves, creating masterpiece after masterpiece in color, form, and purpose. As for the apprentices, they were placed at the periphery of her work, allowed to grow in knowledge though not in closeness. So much so that she refused to name them until they culminated their training, calling them instead by the number of their arrival.

Number 7 arrived with a note from the Overseer explaining that she would be the last addition to this rotation. These notes came as a form of kindness from the Overseer for he knew A.B. well. It was he who had appointed A.B. to the position despite the many qualified architects within the Academy of Phytology. Back during her schooling days he noticed how A.B.'s mood impacted her designs. Though she still adhered to the mathematical principles of creation, the variations she conjured were distinct, wild in their expression and quite useful to the Overseer.

Sorrow left a particular impression upon her flowers, a distinct mark that the Overseer would later ply for the beginning of fruit. So the Overseer of Botany assigned apprentices to the A.B. with a twofold purpose - to provide quality training for the neophyte Flower Makers - and to produce within A.B. the range of emotion required to create the variety of options needed.

A.B. remained largely unaware of this hidden motive. She was barely cognizant of the powerful influence her passion had upon her flowers. To her the apprenticeship program was nothing more than a transactional experience bound to a transitional relationship. So she trained them in a way that would provide her assistance while she prepared them for their future. Each apprentice received a plot of land marked by their number. They were expected to rise before dawn, to sow, to observe, to place their hands deep within the earth and conjure within it the magic to sprout. This was their daily practice, each cultivating inside their plot what was already taking root within them.

Apprentice #1 had been with A.B. the longest. She was capable, brilliant, focused - she was also picky, capricious, difficult. Her flowers were mercurial - sprouting beautifully for weeks, then disappearing for months at a time. She demanded a lot from A.B., pressured her to figure out why her blooms did not last longer. Ultimately she accused A.B. of not prioritizing her development; an accusation A.B. took very personally because despite her resistance to kinship she cared for each trainee deeply. One day Apprentice #1 stormed off in frustration leaving A.B. kneeling in her plot observing the intricate nature of her flowers. Apprentice #7 came by and kneeled next to her.

"What are you contemplating?" she asked.

"The roots."

"How, if you cannot see them?"

"I can see them. The length of the leaves, the height of the stem, the number of blossoms. I can see them."

"Perhaps it's a stem issue. The blossoms are too heavy for it."

"It seems that way but such is not the case. Nothing yields what it cannot sustain. The roots are the concern, instead of reaching deep into the soil they meander in its shallows."

"Perhaps they're not meant for depth, perhaps they're meant for light."

And without asking for permission, Apprentice #7 dug up one of the plants, dusted off the soil, and wrapped its roots around the bark of a nearby tree. A.B. mortified at first, observed her - the careful way in which she manipulated the flowers, the stern manner in which she bound the roots, the aplomb of it all. Within days the velamen attached itself firmly to the tree. The exquisite flowers doubled both in quantity and size. Apprentice #1 marveled at the solution. Soon all her flowers were transplanted to adorn the trunks of many of the surrounding trees. She praised Apprentice #7 for her support, often in the presence of A.B.

Apprentice #6 had a similar experience. Her young buds struggled to mature - they were fragile, sensitive. Apprentice #7 observed the flowers' subtle movements - how they struggled to orient themselves towards the dawning light. She suggested that Apprentice #6 sow her seeds facing east instead of north as was her custom. They all witnessed how the flowers began to blossom. They grew strong, the tallest among all the plots. With maturity they stopped tracking the sun, blooming confidently underneath its warmth.

For all the success Apprentice #7 experienced tending over the gardens of others, her own plot remained largely barren. This worried A.B. for she knew the disadvantages of pouring onto others what should have also been rationed for self. A.B. had spent years forcing herself not to confuse function with purpose, attachment with assignment. She valued the protection such distinctions offered against the sorrow that would otherwise envelop her. She recognized this pip in Apprentice #7 and intended to uproot it before it could even take form. First she isolated her, guided her process, and distanced herself from the apprentice despite how much this hurt them both. All in an effort to suffocate within the apprentice that which she discounted about herself.

Yet, despite all her efforts Apprentice #7's plot remained uncultivated. This was not due to a lack of effort from the apprentice. Interpreting the isolation as a form of punishment, the young woman tilled the ground anxiously, embedding every hopeful intention into a plot that would only yield a void. She longed to make an impression, to be the source of contentment she occasionally observed upon A.B.'s face. The other apprentices tried to help her, especially #1 and #6 who were not quick to forget the impact she had had upon their own gardens. But neither their support nor A.B.'s education rendered any visible results. The plot remained empty.

The night before the naming ceremony the Overseer of Botany came to collect them all, both the apprentices and their creations. Noticing the emptiness of Apprentice #7's plot he glanced over to the Architect of Bloom. A.B. met his gaze quietly before lowering it. Privately she asked the Overseer to allow her to keep #7 for one last night. The Overseer agreed, taking with him numbers 1 - 6, each burrowing their face into their blooms as they passed #7. That night A.B. ignored the tears that streamed down the apprentice's face, taking her hands in hers she pressed them firmly into the ground, burrowing them beneath the soil.

"Do not rise until you have sprouted." A.B. instructed.

The girl wept. She buried her face in the dirt in surrender and in that way she remained throughout the night. A couple hours before dawn she lifted her face for her body ached terribly. That's when she saw it. A single-stemmed flower had risen before her. Its ingenious form held a white, feathery-like pappus that twinkled beneath the moonlight. The apprentice gasped loudly startling A.B. who had been sitting in her wooden chair the whole night.

By morning the Overseer had returned. He stood next to A.B., who stood behind the apprentice as she knelt down to collect her single creation. But upon touching the flower the structure dissipated - vanished before their very eyes. The apprentice stood still. They all did. The Overseer looked over at A.B. who did not return the gaze. He instructed Apprentice #7 to attend the naming ceremony still, with no flower in hand.

At the assembly, the seven newly appointed Flower Makers stood on stage ready to present their creations to the gathered crowd. These new blooms would be their life's work. They would continue to multiply, to evolve, to recreate their own creations until the end of time. These signature blossoms would mark their contributions to the fabric of life. Existing beyond even themselves. The Overseer of Botany took the names A.B. had written upon eucalyptus leaves and approached the podium. He read each one carefully, as the given apprentice took a step forward, raising their flowers for all to see.

"#1: Orchidaceae"

"#2: Dahlia Pinnata"

"#3: Tulipa"

"#4: Lavandula Angustifolia"

"#5: Rosa Rubiginosa"

"#6: Helianthus Annuus"

"#7: Anthesis"

Upon reading the last name on the list the Overseer's eyes widened as he looked for the Architect of Bloom among the crowd. But A.B. had already walked out of the assembly. She returned to her field and waited. In the middle of the night she heard the approaching steps of Anthesis who had quietly returned to collect her things while the others were out celebrating their success. The clouds overpowered the moonlight so she did not see A.B. sitting in that old wooden chair. A.B. cleared her throat causing Anthesis to stop abruptly. Noticing A.B. she lowered her face, attempting to mask what her tears clearly revealed.

"What do you think of your name?" A.B. asked.

Anthesis cleared her throat, attempting to steel the quaking in her voice.

"I get it." She replied.

"Do you?"

"Yes. Antithesis - meaning the direct opposite of a thing…or person. And it’s true. I am indeed the direct opposite of gardening, of growth, of all of this.” She paused. “I am the direct opposite of you."

"That is the correct meaning of the word antithesis; but antithesis is not your name. Your name is Anthesis."

"Is that not what I'm saying?"

"No, Anthesis means 'the flowering stage', it is the period when a flower is fully open and functional, it marks its biological readiness, the peak of its beauty."

Anthesis raised her gaze with furrowed brows to look upon A.B.'s face. The Architect of Bloom smiled gently as she looked towards the sky. With time the clouds dispersed allowing the moon to shine its light across the ground. A.B. guided Anthesis's gaze back towards the field which was now overtaken by the pillowy-like flowers, this time in an array of colors, that shifted in the light like sequence beneath a rolling hand. Anthesis fell to her knees, allowing the well of her heart to have its way with her emotions. A.B. kneeled beside her and ran her hand across the ground. Once again the flowers dissipated into the wind, spreading their nearly invisible seeds across the land.

"You are not a single flower," A.B. whispered, "you are the Art of the Bloom."