THE PARADE OF BLOOMING EARTH
Every year, on the night of the Deep Root Moon, a hidden valley awakens. Flowers that sleep through the seasons rise in a grand Parade of The Blooming Earth, celebrating the soil that cradles them and the rain that nourishes them.
Rohan, the old truck driver, never believed the tales. He simply hauled flowers from Kasauto Valley to the markets, never questioning their peculiar glow or the way their petals seemed to breathe. But this year, as his truck neared the valley’s edge, the flowers spilled over the sides, their vines curling like fingers. The air thickened with the scent of earth after rain, and suddenly—the road
beneath him softened.
beneath him softened.
The truck sank, not into mud, but into something alive—a pathway of petals and moss, shifting like waves. Rohan tumbled out, but instead of landing hard, he sank gently into the earth, his body lighter, his breath filled with the pulse of roots below.
Then he heard it—the music of the soil. A deep, humming rhythm, like the heart of the world itself. The flowers around him swayed, not in the wind, but in dance. And before he could resist, his own hands unfurled into leaves, his legs stretched into roots, his skin turned into petals. Rohan had become part
of the parade.
of the parade.
For one night, he would dance with the flowers, celebrating the soil that held every story—until the first light of dawn, when he would wake up by his truck, the scent of the parade still clinging to his hands, wondering if it had all been a dream.
