At the top of a remote mountain, nestled in the ice and
snow, is a small bush. Its roots are deep into the rock of the mountain,
keeping it secure.
Every few years, it begins to develop a small, white flower,
no bigger than a teardrop. And then, if it isn’t blown off by the wind, it
opens.
And the tiny worms that spend most of their lives frozen
onto the leaves of the bush will sense it, and awaken to pollinate and feed.
Life finds a way, even here.
Until some idiot grabs a memento from his mountain climb…
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