The tailor loved buttons! She admired them for their simplicity, their usefulness, and the way they were simultaneously similar yet each peculiarly unique (this one worn smooth, that one chipped, this one knobby, that one ridged), much like people are different yet the same.
One warm afternoon, after she’d finished sewing a long row of particularly bulbous black buttons onto a fine wool jacket, she got the notion to try a little half hearted experiment. The tailor chose a rather feminine looking brown button from her collection and carried it outside to her little garden plot. She chose a sunny spot beside the rosemary bush, tilled the warm earth with her hands and planted the button.
The tailor chuckled at herself as she watered the spot for the next eight days. The laugh was like a swatch of hopeful sturdy cotton, stitched through with amusement and disbelief. But on the ninth day, before the laugh had a chance to rise in her throat, before the watering can had begun it’s wet work, the tailor glimpsed a pale green tendril unfolding from the planted place.
The following day, the tendril had leaflets. Then a sturdy stem grew, and in a week’s time the tailor saw a heavy red bud begin on the tip of the stem. When the surprisingly large flower opened, the tailor let out a peel of laughter that sang of roller coaster rides, shooting stars, and wild animal sightings.