Once upon a time there was a hydrangea called Pinky Winky.
Every summer she grew in stature and grace. The woman who planted her near the deck admired how the flowers started white and then went through many subtle variations of pink as they opened and matured to a deep rose. She even left the brown flowers stay until spring – for winter interest she said – when Pinky dropped her other leaves and went to sleep.
The nearby pine tree watched all of this, the woman constantly at the door, on the deck, her loving attention. “That woman is far too fond of flowers.” He thought. “All she ever did for me is pull the poison ivy and creeping Charlie that want to smother me. But then, without asking me, she planted some other vine to grow up my trunk, one whose leaves look a lot like Pinky’s. It’s true she also made a flowerbed around me. And I do get extra water when she thinks they are dry. But none of that’s for me. I’m just a backdrop, staging. Neglected.
I tried for flowers to make her happy but all I can do is these heavy brown things that the squirrels like. I see her throw them into the woods when she mows the lawn. That’s how much she cares for me. She cares far too much for these little, bright, short-lived things. I will have to remind her of the beauty of power.”
It wasn’t something that he could do on his own, he had to harness the power of a snow storm, too. A wimpy one, there was no wind, but the heavy snow and sleet gave him what he needed. When he felt one of his lower branches breaking under the weight, he took direct aim at Pinky. As a bonus, he tried for the small rose in front, but the woman had protected it with a metal cage. Now a twisted metal cage.
“That’ll teach them. Pinky may have beauty but I have the power to destroy. A ha, ha, ha, ha, hah!” He roared.
The woman thought it was the wind.