There is no grass that is not a flower

My friend opened a flower shop, opened a new shop, and invited me to visit. The small shop is full of all kinds of flowers and plants, some raised by water, some with potted plants, and some without roots. Whether it is the blooming water to raise flowers or the verdant green plants in the potted plant, it is a beautiful scenery. I asked my friend: does anyone buy this potted plant without flowers? Friends funny eyes out of the glasses frame, faintly said: non-flowering is better than flowering, generally pollen allergy, dislike short flowering, more difficult to serve, most choose this kind of non-flowering potted plants, in fact, every recommendation is a kind of flower! Freeze, fine taste of this sentence, it is true. From the small grass in the green field to the large landscape potted plants in the elegant hall, they do not blossom, but they are generous and beautiful.

When I thought of primary school, there was a boy in the class who was younger than us, didn't like to talk, was a little deaf, and could hardly hear without hearing aids. His father died of cancer when he was very young, and he and his mother depended on each other. His mother is a teacher in our school, with the graduating class, and usually has little time to take care of him. So he often sits quietly in his seat like that, and the only time people notice him is when we are in class, he screams for no reason, and then sweeps all the books on the table to the floor. In this way, we regard him as a "strange child". We never take the initiative to play with him, nor do we take the initiative to talk to him. Except for a few sounds in class, he is always quiet.

His mother occasionally came to "visit the class" and stood outside the classroom window, looking at it from a distance, looking tired. Sometimes he would talk to our teacher and then stand where he could see and wave, but he always showed a bright smile and even showed his teeth. I still don't know why he was so quiet. All I know is that the smile is like a flower in the dust and the sunshine in the haze on his face.

One semester, the school organized a painting competition, and the students' works were handed over to the central primary school in the town to win the prize. The teacher frowned because rural schools had limited resources and had hardly taken art classes, and many students did not even know which pens and papers were needed for painting. But before the deadline, everyone was surprised that the quiet boy had handed in a set of traditional Chinese paintings, with a total of four paintings, namely plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum, which were vivid and freehand brushwork, and next to each painting was a poem with a clear and vigorous typeface, mastery and ingenuity, and then a red signature. Not surprisingly, his painting won the first prize and was taken to the city to compete.

At the class meeting, the teacher asked him to say a few words about his award. He blushed and refused to stand up. In the end, his deskmate pulled him up. He scratched his head for a long time and said, my ears are not good, so my mother told me that my ears are not good, and my eyes are good, so I learned to draw, and there is always one thing I can do well. The audience was quiet, no one spoke, the sun shone on his face, and even the fine fluff was so real that he stood there like an angel. Every child is a flower, they are not necessarily elegant peonies, nor are they necessarily passionate roses, they may be a small grass, such a small one on the green field, but there is no kind of grass that is not a flower. they are all the grass of life.

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Author: Mei Xiaoling (picture from the Internet, invading and deleting)

Support originality! Ordinary people can still do public welfare.