Bloom

Bloom is a picture book for children aged 4 to 9 about a flower that blooms for a little girl who loves it, and a lonely man who learns from her how to speak with love and thanks.

Every morning on her way to school, the little girl stops at a flower under the window of a big house. She admires its petals, smells it and tells it, "I think you're wonderful. Thank you for being here for us. I love you." Then one day the man who lives in the house shouts at her to go away and never come back. From the next morning, the flower stays shut.

The man tries everything. He waters it himself, shades it from the midday sun with his umbrella and talks to it three times a day. But he talks only about himself: how important he is, how nobody likes him, how useless everyone else is. At last his gardener tells him the truth, and the man has to go to the school gate and ask the little girl what she used to say.

Written by Anne Booth, illustrated by Robyn Wilson-Owen and published by Tiny Owl, the story shows children the power of kind words and thankfulness. When the man finally tells the flower it is wonderful, he sees for the first time how lucky he is, and his own heart fills with love.

A flower and a little girl

There was once a beautiful flower that grew under the window of a big house, and a little girl who loved it. Every morning, on her way to school with her brother, the little girl visited the flower. She looked at its beautiful petals, breathed in its sweet smell, and wondered at the smoothness of its leaves, their colour and their shape.

"Good morning, beautiful flower," she would say. "I think you're wonderful. Thank you for being here for us. I love you." Then she went to school happy.

The man in the big house

One morning, the man who lived in the big house woke up early and heard someone talking to his flower. He looked out of his window and saw the little girl. "How dare you talk to my flower!" he shouted. "Go away, and never come near my flower again!"

The little girl and her brother did not like being shouted at, so they went to school another way. The next day, when the sun rose, the flower did not open. Every day after that, it stayed tightly shut.

Water, shade and talking

The man was furious and sent for his gardener. "What is the matter with my flower?" he demanded. "Is it getting enough water?"

"Yes," said the gardener. "I water it every morning and evening."

"Well, you're obviously not doing it properly," said the man crossly. "I can see I'm just going to have to do it myself." So every morning and every evening he watered the flower himself, but still it would not open.

Perhaps it needed more shade, the man said, because the sun was very hot in the middle of the day. The gardener said he had made sure it had plenty of shade, but the man said he was obviously not doing that properly either. So every day, when the sun was at its highest, the man stood over the flower with his umbrella. Still it did not open.

Then the man began to talk to the flower. He told it how wonderful he was, how lucky it was to be his flower and how important his job was. He told it about his problems: how busy he was, how nobody liked him, how useless his gardener was, how nothing got done properly unless he did it himself, and how lonely he felt. He ordered it to bloom and cheer him up. But it still did not open.

What the gardener knew

The unhappy man called the gardener again. "Before you say anything," said the gardener, "I don't know what the matter is. All I know is that the flower hasn't opened since you sent away the little schoolgirl who passed by it every morning."

"What did she do that I don't do?" asked the man crossly.

"Well, she used to talk to it every day," said the gardener.

"That can't be it," said the man. "I talk to it every morning, at midday and before I go to bed, and what I say must be much better than anything a little girl could say." But he thought and thought, and at last he decided that he would have to ask the child to come back. Perhaps she had some magic words that made the flower bloom.

The little girl's words

So he went to the school gate and waited for the little girl and her brother. "My flower stopped blooming after you left," he told her.

"Poor flower," said the little girl.

"I've watered it and sheltered it and talked to it every day, but it still won't open," said the man, and a tear rolled down his cheek. The little girl's brother passed him a hanky.

"What do you say to it?" asked the little girl.

The man blew his nose. "I tell it how important I am and how lucky it is to be in my garden. I tell it how miserable I am and how horrible everybody else is. And I order it to bloom, to cheer me up. But it doesn't work."

"Well," said the little girl, "why don't you tell it how wonderful it is? Thank it for being there, and tell it how much you love it. That's what I always did."

The flower blooms

The man ran home to his flower. "You are wonderful," he said, and as he said the words, he saw for the first time how truly wonderful the flower was.

"I'm so lucky that you grow in my garden," he said, and as he said it, he realised how lucky he really was. He saw that he had never really looked at his flower properly, and he longed to see it and smell its perfume again.

"I love you so much," said the man at last. As he said it, his own heart filled with love.

And the flower bloomed.