There it sits. Don’t you see it? That beautiful bouquet of royal purple, pure white, and blood red.
I don’t know how anyone can miss it. It sits right outside The Berg building in that fake, ill crafted, plastic pot that is supposed to look like rustic terracotta.
A strange combination of flowers, like a melting pot of races that together are radiant and eye catching.

On the other side of campus there sits a large crab apple tree, guarding the stairs that lead to the cafeteria and bookstore.
It’s trunk large and sturdy, twisted and strong like an aged warrior that has weathered years of war.
Its vibrant green leaves turned up towards the sun, welcoming the warmth, seeming to starve for light. The bright red apples hanging waiting silently to be picked and eaten.

Both the flowers and tree beautiful in their own separate ways;
both tended to by the grounds keepers and staff.
But only the flowers seem to be admired by those passing by.
People sit in the shade of the tree, but never take time to examine its beauty or wonder about the many years it has seen.
People see the flowers on the other hand and marvel at the way they are arranged and how delicate they are.

The flowers sit in prideful beauty, while the tree sits humble and magnificent.
The petals of the flowers are delicate and easily broken, but so is the spirit of the old tree that sits not far off.
Everyone wants to pick a flower, but no one wants to pick a tree.
The leaves and petals of the vain flowers are handled with such care,
but the fruit of the tender tree is tromped upon by academic feet that do not care for anything except for where they have been and where they are going.