On the banks of a little stream in the sort of forest where one would find leaf fairies and brittlehorns, a young boy sat with his pastels and paper, making little boats to have them sail in the clear blue water of the stream. On his folded paper boats, he drew many things. His favourite colour was green, so despite the fact that there are other pigments in the world, he drew his mother, reading her books with the fancy words in them and coloured her green, he drew his father, with his serious face and that big black briefcase of his then coloured him green, and who could forget the wonderfully emerald depiction of his dog.

As he was very occupied with his drawing and what-not, he failed to notice a young lady in a flowery dress and a big floppy white hat on her head observing him carefully from her perch in a nearby cherry blossom tree in bloom. Intent in the boy’s work, the lady swooped gracefully down to ground level and came close enough to him to distinctly see his colourings, which she found irresistibly compelling.

The boy had been drawing a poppy by this time, and just before he filled in the flower’s pretty round petals with his emerald pastel, he realized that he must colour it red, because such an intense flower symbolizing the awesome power of peace should be depicted sporting this vibrant colour. As he turned around to fetch his red pastel from his pencil case, he saw the inquisitive lady looking over his shoulder! Startled out of his wits and usual curious nature, the boy snatched up his pencil case and started to run away, away from that extremely odd lady with which he was not particularly comfortable with.

“Oh, please don’t leave! I didn’t mean to scare you, I… I love your pictures. They’re beautiful,” the lady called out to the fleeing boy.

The boy turned around. Slowly, he inspected the woman from head to foot, examining every inch of her. Reassured by his unalarming inspection of the lady, he took a few steps towards her.

“Aw, don’t you think my drawings are a little scruffy?” the boy asked shyly.

“Well, I suppose I should think so since you don’t like your drawings yourself,” said the lady.

“I do like my drawings! I’m just afraid no one else will appreciate them.”

“Before anyone else like your work, you have to like it yourself. Now come here, and we’ll practice drawing on your boats together.

His curiosity roused by this peculiar adult, the boy returned to the banks of the sparkling stream. He set out his paper and pastels once more so the two of them could reach the supplies. As he folded his next little boat together, the inquisitive boy eyed his partner’s work. She was drawing flowers, lots of flowers, of every colour of the rainbow. Roses, lilies, daisies, lilacs, petunias, and other blossoms of all kinds covered the paper. As she was finishing up a cone flower, the boy, pushed by some inner instinct to wonder about this woman, asked her a question.
“Why are you drawing flowers?” he inquired.

“Why are you drawing dogs, fathers and mothers?” was the lady’s reply.

“Because they are my family.”

“Well, flowers are my family.”

“Don’t you have a mother?”

“Yes. She was beautiful rose bound for the sky.”

“Has she reached the sky yet?”

“No, she is still growing.”

“Growing old?”

“Growing up. There are still many meters between her and the clouds.”

“Oh…”

They continued their work in silence, each drawing their own family, when finally the lady had finished her ship. She gracefully stood up, boat in hand, and went to the very tip of the river bank where she sat, knees in the soil and surrounded by cattail plants. Ever so gently she placed the sea craft into the clear blue water and blew it away with her sweet, soft breath. Thee ship sailed down stream, it’s colours flying brightly, and soon it was out of sight. The boy, who always caught his ships before they drifted, ran after the boat to retrieve it for his new friend. Such a wonderful boat shouldn’t be lost.

“Where are you going, dear boy?” the lady called after him.

“Your boat shall be lost forever in the maze of streams nearby if we don’t catch it soon. Wouldn’t you hate to lose it?” the boy asked.

“I haven’t lost it. I’m giving it away,” said the lady.

“To who?”

“I don’t know. Someone who needs it is my guess.”

“What if… What if it ends up in the wrong hands.” The boy questioned, wishing the beautiful boat would be a gift to him.

The lady smiled. “I don’t think it will.”

And she started to walk away.

“Wait!” the boy yelled, running after her into some bushes.

“Will I ever see you again?” he called out to no one in particular. For a reply, a breeze rustled in the trees, but that was all.

Years later, when the boy grew into a man and moved away from home, he went to fish on the other side of the sparkling stream. As he was waiting to reel in his meal, he saw a little paper boat sailing down the water. The man caught it with his fishing pole, and as he reeled it out of the water, he saw that it was covered in every kind of flower you could possibly imagine. So finally, after so many years of waiting, Lady Spring came back to the man, and for the first time in his life, he saw how beautiful spring really was. The whole world suddenly shed a new light on him, so enlightening that it filled him with joy. Perhaps this is something only an artist like him could realize, but maybe, just maybe, the boat might show someone else how beautiful the earth really is too. So the man launched the boat into the water, and hoped someone who needed it would find it.