“…And then the Green Mother lifts her bow, signaling the final song.”  

A few in the crowd sighed in longing, marking themselves as former attendees.

“If you could only hear ‘The Sunset Eternal’ once, it would still be enough to see you happily through an entire year of cold sleep!”

In the back, still in his usual post between two sets of golden elevator doors, an elderly Dogwood shook his branches in horror.  

“Only the young can speak of winter so flippantly.  Imagine, an entire year of such darkness!”

Many of the lobby plants agreed, a variety of leaves and blossoms rustling as each fought to be heard above the others.  When the noise threatened to draw the attention of their people, Aspidistra silenced them all with a single twitching leaf.  

“Do not trouble yourselves over the outside world.  You should all know by now just what tale-spinners the romantic Flowers are.  They keep us informed, but you must balance such knowledge against personal experience.  Aside from the Areca sisters guarding the front doors, none of you has been beyond these walls in some time.”

Gradually the others were forced to agree, each turning his or her attention back to their duties.  Once she was certain that the others had focused their attention on more important things, Aspidistra focused on their guest.

“Thank you for the story, sister Carnation.  As frightened as they are, we all crave the embrace of the Mistress.  While we wouldn’t dream of deserting our posts, the passing years can grow very long at times.”

“It is a noble thing you do, Elder.  So many of us dedicated to these people…”  Leaning closer, she took a deep breath before confiding in the leader of the lobby tribe. “I mean no offense, but I have to ask.  Is it really worth it?”

Aspidistra smiled at the familiar question.  “Imagine finding yourself in some wasteland, forever denied cool water and air, never again to see a speck of green.  That is what we swore to prevent, both for each other and these lesser creatures.  We guard their sacred pools;  encased lakes that are forever cold.  We watch over their doorways, watching for the first touch of winter.  Others heal their broken hearts and fractured minds, where simply being there does much to calm and center them.  For others, we drive them to amazing industry at all hours of the day and night.  We do much for them, sister; and if only a few ever think to give us words of praise, that will be reward enough.”

A human dedicated to delivery returned then, forcing them to exchange a hasty goodbye.  The Carnation was carted off to the top floor, where another audience awaited her stories.

                                                           ~  ~  ~

“Wasn’t that a lovely story, Star?  I never get tired of hearing about the Green Mother, even if I’ll never see her.”

Swallowing a knot of grief at the words, Star turned her sights back to the park below.  “You and me both, Coleus.”

Immediately Coleus picked up his friend’s tone.  “I’m sorry, Star…I wasn’t thinking.  There’s still hope, you know.  Winter is still a half-year off.”

“It’s okay, Coleus.  I’ve already accepted my fate.  It’s hardly your fault our charge was promoted to the head office.”

Biting back a few choice words at human foolishness, he quickly modified his response.  “Imagine, having a rule against office trees!”

“That’s right, you’re going to a top customer, aren’t you?  You’ve been a great friend, Coleus…I’ll miss you.”

It was easy to get caught up in Star’s sadness.  They’d been friends from the start, before one man purchased both for his corner office.  Their assignment was a kind man, one that firmly believed in talking to his plants.  While they could hardly vocalize their side of the conversation, it was enough that they returned the kindness in other ways.  From his corner position on the desk, Coleus offered the pleasant scent of fresh greenery, the stimulating sight of colorful leaves.  Now and then he even served as a paperweight for important documents.

On the other hand, Star held a position near the window, next to a chair reserved for guests.  When not offered up the comforting smell of pine, she often stared wistfully at the large park across the street.  It was no secret that she dreamed of abandoning her job and leaving the office.  While most Guardians contented themselves with stories of the outside world, Star was different.  

One day during their first winter, a band of Roses had passed through with a story of The Night Concert.  Each year on the last night of autumn, Gaea herself held a concert to celebrate seasons past.  With her fiddle of leaves and bow of vine, she would play until the very last second before the sun set, giving every plant a memory that would see them through their winter sleep….or at least, every outdoor plant.

As the leader of their group - a dazzling White Rose with a golden voice - moved on to another tale, Star turned to him, practically glowing in excitement.

“Imagine, Coleus…hearing the Mistress play!  Before I make way for the next generation, I have to hear her song!  Promise you’ll help me?”

Under such a gaze of hope and joy, he could only agree.  “Of course I will, Star.  I promise.”

“By the first spring dawn?” She asked immediately, stretching out a single branch.

Extending a leaf of his own, the two wound together briefly in the age-old swearing.  “By the first spring dawn.”

Almost a year had passed since that night, and they were no closer to granting her wish.  It didn’t help that time was against them.  All too soon autumn would end, and while he would see his second winter through without incident, Star would die to make way for others.  Was a single year really enough time to accomplish anything?  

If I were in Star’s pot, I’d be depressed too.  How do you count down the days, knowing that each sunset means one less chance to fulfill your only desire?  

Holding back a sigh, Coleus forced himself to approach the problem logically.  Most plants were emotional beings, reflecting the strong heart of Gaea, but they could be flatly practical now and then.  Thank Gaea he wasn’t some romantic flower!  They could hardly think beyond composing their songs of thanks, or weaving their next captivating tale.  

The first hurdle was getting Star outside.  While small for a tree, she was still large enough to avoid a casual push…and even if a human happened to try moving her, they’d probably move her to another office rather than outside.  On the other leaf, if enough force were thrown in, her pot would shatter.  They’d be forced to replant, or more likely, throw her out.  But would just getting outside the immediate building be enough?

It’s a good start…

                                                           ~  ~  ~

Word spread through the building like wildfire; and given their familiarity with the speed of fire, that was saying something.  It wasn’t as if the others knew he and Star personally…but somehow that didn’t matter.  They all craved the touch of Gaea’s music; it was easy to join a cause that supported that end for a dying tree.

“I’m still unsure about this…”

Aspidistra regarded Brutus in silence, choosing her reply carefully.  “I understand your concerns, friend.  You are as dedicated to your job as we are to ours.  It is a hard thing we ask you to do, stepping out of that role.  Will your master be all right?”

At the mention of his master, Brutus wagged his tail energetically.  “They always make us wait outside that office for at least ten minutes.  He should be safe in that chair.  If they call us early…” He trailed off, tail drooping a bit.

“If the plan must fail to keep your master safe, that is certainly a good reason.  Don’t worry Brutus, no one will hold it against you.  You take a great risk helping us; good behavior is legendary in your profession.  Not everyone has the dedication and heart to be a seeing-eye dog.”

An employee stepped forward then to greet his master.  Getting to his feet, Brutus bid a short goodbye to Aspidistra before leading his master to the elevator.  Shortly they reached the top floor, where they were quickly escorted to their usual place.  Taking a seat on the floor beside his master, he was immediately hailed by a nearby Ruscus.

“Morning, friend!  I trust you know the plan?” The tree asked in a friendly voice, waving his leaves in greeting.

“Aspidistra explained it to me.  Has anyone told Star?”

Ruscus laughed, branches shaking enough that he lost a leaf or three. “And ruin the surprise?  It isn’t often that one of us leaves our job behind…not that I fault her one bit.  A dying woman is entitled to a last dream.”

“Are you sure about the timing though?  I don’t want to hurt her….I mean, if no one’s there to rescue her…”

“Don’t worry, the janitor is known for his gardening.  We double-checked the schedule to make sure he’d be the one called.  There’s no way he’d ever abandon a plant that could be saved.”

Reassured, Brutus gave a last nod to the friendly Ruscus, before taking the first leap that would set everything else in motion.

                                                           ~  ~  ~

“I’m sorry Roger…I didn’t think about that old radiator behind you.  Will Brutus be okay?”

The blind man nodded, comforting his whining guardian.  “Don’t blame yourself, Ed.  He’s just never encountered one before.  Just bad luck, really.  He’ll be fine though, just a bit singed and startled, eh boy?”

Playing up the wounded angle a bit more, Brutus licked his master’s face, nuzzling him gently.

“Us old boys have to be more careful, don’t we boy?” Giving the dog a last pat, he climbed to his feet.  “Sorry about your plant, Ed.  I hope the mess isn’t too much trouble.  Didn’t expect Brutus to go running off like that.”

The two men moved past the doorway, voices trailing behind.

“No trouble, Roger.  That office is empty at the moment.  I’d swear we sent a memo to get the system updated, but with so many floors and two of the maintenance boys retiring…not surprising a unit or two was overlooked….”

Coleus smiled, promising himself that he’d personally thank Brutus as soon as possible.   With a last look at the retreating trio, he turned his attention inward, glancing over at Star’s usual corner.  Already Yasuo was tending her broken pot, muttering about the virtues of proper plant care.  

The elderly Japanese man was a strong favorite among all the plants in the building, and for good reason.  A senior member of the maintenance team, in his spare time he was an accomplished gardener…one that took special pride in caring for his plants.  Several times each year he would bring in various fruits, vegetables, or flowers, all grown at home.  Out of everyone in the building, Yasuo was the most-likely to adopt a stray….even one with such little time left.

“Now, now…how can someone treat you this way, hmm?  We should show proper respect for the things gracious enough to promote life.  You give us a great gift, little one…and this is your thanks.”

Even as shocked at she was, Star beamed at the old man’s kindness.  Before she could think of a way to repay him, she was lifted up and resettled into her old position.  Though instead of a sturdy pot, she found herself in a carefully wrapped bag.  

“With old Glen gone, I imagine they’ll leave you in this corner to rot; assuming the new manager doesn’t throw you out entirely.  Such waste…shameful!  No, a pretty little tree like you will be far better suited to my garden than the garbage bins!”

Almost glowing in joy at the plan’s success, Coleus managed a single wave as his life-long friend passed by, cradled gently in the arms of her new charge.  

                                                           ~  ~  ~

“…And that’s how I ended up here.” Star finished with a gentle smile.

“Thank you for the story, Grandma Star!” A chorus of energetic voices replied.

I will forever be in your debt, Coleus.  You were the best kind of friend.  Would you smile to see the new life your gift granted me?  An entire building full of such wonderful friends…

It was easier to admit after the fact, but during those first few moments where her only support had been a bag and the strong grip of a kindly old man, she’d been scared to death.  Even a last, reassuring wave from Coleus hadn’t eased her fears.  It wasn’t until the others said their own goodbyes - every plant managing a single wave as she passed - that she’d finally calmed down.  Even Brutus added a few tail wages when they passed him in the lobby.  With so many supporting her, how could she be afraid?

The children helped.  All of us knew that Yasuo kept a garden, but I never expected this mob!

Yasuo kept more than a simple garden; in reality he owned the building he lived in, a title that had already passed through three generations of his family.  The entire roof had been converted to an open garden by his father, though one area was being set aside for a greenhouse once spring hit.  

Everyone had taken to Star immediately, from the older shrubs, to the young Sedum plants that occupied a flowerbed closest to her.  Often called Autumn Joy, the name  fit the upbeat and energetic group that enjoyed talking to her at every opportunity.  As the oldest plant on the roof, they looked to her to teach them the things that would see them through life, tell them the stories that they’d pass on to those that came after her.

Autumn is half over…and still there is so much to tell them about life, about the kind of jobs so many of us do for the humans.  How can I even think of the Green Mother, when there is no one else to share my knowledge?  They won’t see Roses or Carnations up here…and while there are a few other trees that might know, I’m the only one that once took the other path.  

More than one of her new children had already expressed interest in helping humans.  Given the kindness of Yasuo, she could hardly blame them.  It wasn’t as if they would miss Gaea…born the year before, they’d already heard her song.  

“Grandma Star?”

Gathering her thoughts, Star focused on one of the smaller Autumn Joys.  “Yes, child?”

“Will you listen to the concert with us this year?”

“Reading my mind, little one?”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, dear.”  Star forced herself to give the child a reassuring smile. “No, I’m afraid I won’t be attending Gaea’s concert this year.”

“Why not?  It’s very beautiful, Grandma!  So many songs and stories…”

When Star shuddered, a nearby Algerian Ivy interrupted. “Silence, child!  Have you no manners?”

“It’s okay, Ivy…”

“You’re too tolerant, Star!  These young ones should know better by now.  There are rules about mentioning the concert to Annuals.”

“At least my children will hear it once.  No matter what, I will pass on that gift.”

“You’re a good one, Star.  I know that doesn’t change things, but maybe it will bring a little comfort.”

                                                           ~  ~  ~

She was right…it doesn’t change things, but it helps.  

“Three more days until the first morn of winter.  Are you ready for the yearly darkness?”

Immediately a dozen Sedums sang out in response. “Yes, Grandma!”

“And you  promise to pay attention to Gaea’s concert?”

“Of course, Grandma Star!”

Favoring them with a smile, she smothered a wave of sadness.  It was never easy to say goodbye.  Her friends at the office had handled it best; quick and kind, only allowing time for passing smiles.  Of course the older ones on the roof already knew of her plans.  They’d each managed to pass on a few words or a last gesture.  With the concert so close though, she wouldn’t taint the young ones joy with last words and final goodbyes.  Better to leave them with her usual smiles and stories, then vanish while they weren’t looking.

Preparing herself for one last job, she was interrupted when the roof door opened suddenly.  Wrapped in layers of woven shawls and skirts, a elderly woman shuffled her way toward them.  Short enough that Star came up to her neck, she moved with a grace at odds with her thin frame and old age.  

But instead of turning to admire the Autumn Joy, or take of the waiting vegetables, she stopped in front of Star.  Without a word she fingered a few needles, before pulling one free.  Star kept herself from shaking at the sudden pain, fear of scaring the young ones strengthening her will.

“Do not think me cruel, Matron.”  The old woman explained, holding the offending needle between two gnarled fingers.  “I’ve heard many things about you, Star.  A little bird, several in fact, told me of your lifelong quest to hear Gaea’s concert.  Yet instead of anger or grief at your failure, you freely dedicated your heart and energy to these little ones…ensuring that they would have the knowledge to survive once you were gone, to choose between a life outside or one dedicated to mankind.”

Before Star could form a reply, she continued.

“Now, even I cannot turn back time, or give fresh life to things past.  But while you shall never hear the concerts you’ve missed, I can promise you a special place for next year’s spring and autumn celebrations.”

At that Star laughed bitterly.  She knew that humans couldn’t hear their speech, but instinct told her that the old woman before her was different. “Look at me…I won’t live beyond this day, let alone through another year!  Winter is almost here, and my life is already committed to the soil.  My body will die before the day is out, helping to strengthen those that will take my place in the coming spring.”

“Believe me, Grandmother; I have the ear of some very important people.  You and your kind have always been loyal…passing on the tales that others miss, remembering roles that would otherwise be forgotten.  Believe me when I say that you and all your race will finally enjoy the music you’ve spent a lifetime searching for.”

Even as it dawned on Star just who she was speaking to, Gaia conjured her fiddle with a swirl of leaves.  Without warning she launched into a song, which the murmurs of nearby plants quickly identified as ‘Spring Reborn’.  

The oldest song, it was always the first played each year, its magic designed to give new life to all things, and wake every plant from their winter slumber.  When sung on a single needle, it brought new life to Star, turning her fading branches into a bright green she’d only achieved in her first month.  

Letting the last notes fade, Gaea regarded her intently.  “You are a Grandmother no longer, Star Pine.  I have given all your people a great gift, one you must continue to work for.  No longer will your people be annuals, doomed to enjoy only a single year…but to keep your new lifespan, you must promise to take on a new job.  Instead of serving humans, you must serve other plants.  Watch over them as they sleep throughout the winter…teach them the roles they must take, tell them the stories that must never be forgotten.”

Beaming, Star bowed in thanks.  

                                                           ~  ~  ~

“…‘I would be honored to do so, Green Mother.’ she replied, fighting back tears of joy.”

“What happened then?” A young Goldenrod interrupted eagerly.

Managing a tolerant smile, the White Rose chuckled.  “Patience, little one!  You must never rush a grand story, especially one with such a great impact on us all.”

“Tell us the rest of Star‘s tale!”  A young Star Pine Tree called out from the safety of his mother’s shadow.

In one corner, far behind all those crowded around to hear the Rose’s story, two others shared a secret glance.  On one side a tale wagged in open enthusiasm, while on the other a small plant thrived, every leaf and branch practically shining with love and pride