Boca Raton, FL (PRWEB) April 30, 2005
ÂLife is a formidable journey by itself. And finding your way in and around it is even harder. But that doesnÂt mean that we just give up and let go.Â - From: A Bee Called Kangaroo.
The story A Bee Called Kangaroo has profound and idealistic points about resilience, hope, life, love, and self-awareness. In it, Kangaroo traveled for miles and miles to find the reason why his Nurse Bee had given him a name. He met a wild flower with no name and a friendly old oak tree named Griff. Kangaroo told them tales of his adventure.
The author reveals her own views about the triumphs and troubles of mankind, and the simple wisdom that love is all encompassing and universal. These are all mirrored in each page in the lives of all the characters in this profound and insightful book.
Inspiration & illustrations by Dawn M. Landrum with many thanks to photographer Greg Summers for the beautiful rose used to motivate Mary Ellen's final transformation.
It was a cool spring morning. The snows of winter had at last melted away. The sun above me warmed the earth with her rays, yet there was still a chill in the air. My yellow petals and bright green leaves were so small then.
I remember Griff, the old oak tree. His large and broad trunk sheltered me from strong winds and from the pounding summer rains. Ah, yes, my dear old friend, Griff. I always felt strength living beneath his shadow.
ÂGriff,Â I asked him that morning, Âwhat should be my name?Â
The powerful oakÂs voice was loud yet gentle. ÂWhatÂs in a name?Â he replied.
Griff often spoke in riddles like that. They always put me at a loss for words. After all, he had been an old oak tree long before I was around. Everything he said, I believed. I respected his wisdom.
Of course, as usual, Griff enjoyed the chance to teach me something. He smiled behind his thick, lush leaves. ÂOh, come on, little flower,Â he said rolling his eyes backward, as if he just asked the simplest question in the whole wide world. ÂA name is just a word, or a bunch of words, that we call ourselves. Nothing more, nothing less.Â
Again, his words Â though wise, IÂm sure Â were far too lofty for me. It seemed to me that words, names especially, did indeed mean things! I couldnÂt imagine, for example, calling the sun by any other name. Even the name ÂGriffÂ seemed so appropriate. It sounded like someone large and looming, though in a nice way, of course. Then again, I was but a humble little flower. What did I know?
I asked Griff to give me a name but he simply shook his head and said, ÂWhy would I want to do that?Â He looked around and held his mighty branches high in the air. ÂSee?Â he boomed, ÂThere are no other flowers here by this dirt road. You donÂt need a name. You are just ÂflowerÂ.Â
ÂBut you have a name,Â I exclaimed.
Griff patted my head and replied kindly, ÂBut of course, my dear, I need one since there are at least a dozen oak trees around here.Â
I remained silent, then he added, ÂWe will all get confused which oak tree did what and when, and which oak tree said this or that. ItÂs just a way to make things simple, my dear little flower. ThatÂs all.Â
I gazed up at his proud, wide trunk and his strong branches majestically stretching out into the air, almost touching the clouds. Maybe he was right. Maybe what heÂs really saying is that IÂm not even worthy of a name.
After that day, I never again brought up the subject of names. I had thought that there was something magical about how you were named. Like the stars whispered a word or two in your ears and whalah! You have a name that was meant for you to cherish. But then again, Griff was right, I supposed. He was a wise old oak tree. I shouldnÂt question him.
Griff and I would chat day in and day out until both of us grew weary. We talked about how blue the skies were, or how faeries covered each blade of grass with frost in the dead of night when all the earth slept. Sometimes, we watched how a spider spun her web, or better yet, even ponder the possibility that there may be other flowers like me beyond where I was rooted. What a wonderful thought! Yet it seemed to exist only in my imagination. I had never seen another flower like me with my own eyes. And I began to think that I never would.
My life as a wildflower by the dirt road seemed destined to continue on like this, for the rest of my days, without changeÂ until that one fateful late spring afternoon when I first met Kangaroo. He changed my life, and for the first time, I found my name.
I remember this young tiny bee so well. He looked very distraught indeed as he buzzed his way into my placid life. I first caught sight of him as he circled aimlessly around Griff. My big friend and I watched him curiously. At last, he landed on the friendly boulder that sat directly between us.
The beeÂs voice was small and high pitched. ÂHave you seen a swarm of bees like myself pass by,Â he asked anxiously.
I shook my head, and with that, he collapsed on the rock and cried.
ÂI am lost!Â he moaned. ÂI am all alone.Â
My heart ached in a weird way I had never felt before. I had never seen anything nor anyone cry such sad and mournful tears. His little choking whimpers were like daggers plunging into my heart.
ÂPlease donÂt cry!Â I finally managed to say.
ÂI am so tired,Â he said to speak in-between his sobs. ÂI have traveled so far and I simply cannot go onÂ Â
A perfect gift to your loved ones, young and old...
Please scroll down to view more illustrations by Dawn M. Landrum ...
ÂAt the end of each day, before you go to sleep, whatÂs left in your mind is either the worst or the best thing that you have done Â thatÂs all. You have a choice each day. To create memories you would like to last. Whether or not they are good or bad, well, that is completely up to you.Â
From: A Bee Called Kangaroo
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