Rustling it's leaves, the Old Cabbage Tree asked Little Black Dog what had made her sigh so sadly, and why she is hiding here in stead of home with her family.
She explained that early that morning, she had come upon the most beautiful flower, glistening with dew. It stood tall and proud above the grasses, a soft yellow with a dark center.
Now, quite confused, Old Cabbage Tree pointed out that seeing beautiful things are a reason to rejoice, not be sad. But the little black dog explained that she realised, as she looked at that flower, that she was the opposite of what she saw. She was neither light, nor delicate, nor tall. She does not stand proudly above the grasses, nor does the dew glisten in the morning sunlight on her fur.
"I am not beautiful, Old Cabbage Tree, and that makes me very sad."
Old Cabbage Tree took a moment to consider. He observed the little dog underneath him closely. Just as she was beginning to squirm under his scrutiny, he spoke up.
"It is true, Little Black Dog, that you are not like that flower."
His words made her shrink into herself.
"But, that does not mean you are not beautiful. Look here:"
He directed the wind around himself, gently parting a clump of grass. There, deep amongst the yellow shafts, was a small, bright red flower.
"Do you see that flower?" he asked her.
It was no bigger than her nostril, and she only noticed it when she had gotten up and inspected the parted clump closely.
"Is it not lovely?" he asked her.
She nodded, it was a beautiful little flower indeed.
Old Cabbage Tree explained. Some things are like the morning flower, tall and proud and easy to notice. Most everyone can tell that they are beautiful.
"That is fine and good, and I am glad to have such beauty in the world", he said, "but some things are not like that. Some things carry their beauty close to their heart, like a secret. It is not a fault of theirs that they are like this - they are still very beautiful, like that red flower there.
In stead of being cultivated beauties, like your dew-flower this morning, they are wildflowers. Because their beauty is harder to see, some overlook it. Sometimes, they even overlook it themselves."
He dropped a piece of bark pointedly near her.
"Remember, Little Black Dog, it's not their fault if others fail to see their beauty. That does not mean that it is not there, and that it is not truly wonderful".
Little Black Dog looked up at his leaves, watching the late sunlight filter through them.
"Thank you, Old Cabbage Tree." she said, and turned to depart, feeling much happier.
"A last secret, before you go, Little Dog."
She pricked an ear his way, listening intently.
"Some even prefer the hidden beauty of a wildflower. Like me"
She could not help but smile as she headed to her home.
