Two flowers on a sill

There are two mechanical sunflowers sitting on my windowsill. One of them is headless. When the sun hits their little solar cells, they overflow with quiet, contained--bridled joy. Their heads (the one with a head) bob side to side while their petals flail up and down like the sun is a non-stop jam with tasty licks that refuse to quit.

I wish they really could overflow. I wish that there was a day in April that was so sunny and bright that the sheer happiness generated by the solar cells blew their tender circuits. Their heads and leaves smashed through their plastic cases and overreached their joints and all the limbs spilled into the air, glowing white. It would smell like birthday cake. When the colored spots that blinded you cleared away you would see a message in a little puff of smoke lingering over the shells that said, "Mission Accomplished, sir."

Mechanical plants can't do that. But we can. We should strive for it. We should live to transcend the bounds of novelty smiley trinkets. Grandma's ablaze! Our circuits are supple and the energy is primed all around. Our limbs can churn and our expressions can burn red hot through blizzards. I am not a flower! I am not a mecha-flower! I am a man! A man who holds his own purpose--and also two mechanical flowers, and also a lot of memories I'm still sorting out, in my own two hands!