|The flowers and their petals are modifying the message being sent originally|
|Is it not bending to touch the rocks? Can you not imagine a secret being shared?|
|Seeing the other frond, a second joins the effort, stretching to a rock of its own|
|This one, getting tired of waiting, impatiently begins to stretch upwards toward the flowers|
|Before the yearning and improvisation started. Everyone knew their place.|
Do rocks speak flower? Do they require a translation of the oleander dialect?
I may be of some assistance. If you happen to see me laying here with my head on a rock, a flower pressed to the other ear, slowly mumbling to the stone, have no concern. Talking to a rock is slow work, but very worth it, and sounds to humans like little more than low rumbling mumbling. On the other hand, flowers speak very softly, quiet as the wind. I listen, and can only hope that the flowers' message is not lost upon the rocks.