Summary: The meadow was still. One lonely stranger sat underneath the shelter of a willow tree, gazing up at the bright stars. With a long index finger he traced pictures from the glistening dots. His mouth whispered words silently, words of pain and anguish, as he gazed up into the whirlpool of space. His dark eyes resembled the black hole of his soul, as he waited for the white-petal flower to redeem him.