a cronopio runs across a solitary flower in the middle of the fields.
at first, he's about to pull it up,
but then he thinks,
this is a useless cruelty,
and he gets down on his knees beside it and plays lightheartedly with the flower,
he caresses the petals, he puffs at it until it dances,
he buzzes at it like a bee, he inhales its perfume and finally,
he lies down under the flower and falls asleep,
enveloped in a profound peace.
the flower thinks: 'he's like a flower'.
