by Antonio Napoli

Once upon a time, a flower bloomed in the heart of the desert. It was the first time that the earth, so dry and unforgiving, gave life to something so beautiful and extraordinary. The sun, captivated by its delicate presence, fell in love with it. It decided to soften its heat right there, where the flower reached out toward its light, giving just enough warmth to keep it from withering.

The desert animals, astonished, stopped to admire it, forgetting even their hunts and mutual hostilities. Everyone spoke of the unique beauty of that flower, and even the ocean, having heard of it through the rivers’ tales, sent its homage in the form of rain carried by the clouds. Thus, the flower was never without water, and for once, the desert seemed less miserly.

The flower grew luxuriantly, transforming first into a tall shrub and then into a majestic tree, with a blooming canopy that perfumed the air and drew creatures from far and wide. Yet, its magnificence became a burden: animals of the land and sky crowded its branches, drawn by its fragrance and beauty, until one day, perhaps under the weight of too many visitors or perhaps because of the pride that had made it forget its roots, the tree fell to the sand with a heavy thud.

The sound of its fall reached the ears of the wind, which rushed to the scene. No one could do anything for the fallen tree, and the wind, filled with both anger and compassion, began to swirl around its petals, lifting them into a luminous column that rose through the sky.

The petals, scattered to the four corners of the world, landed on the earth like seeds. Everywhere, new flowers sprang up, coloring the landscape. But this time, nature had learned its lesson: none of these flowers grew beyond a modest height, and to protect themselves from the weight of suffocating and excessive love, each stem grew thorns.

  Thus, roses were born.