There once was a lovely purple flower, growing in a charming little patch alongside other similar flowers. The sun warmed its leaves and the wind caressed them. There was enough water in the ground to grow and flourish. There were enough minerals. There was plenty of sunshine. There were bees and other insects enjoying its nectar and flying off with its seeds. And one day the flower thought: The sun, the wind, the ground, the bees all serve my needs. I take the raw materials that they give me and I make beautiful scents and blossoms. I must be the center of the cosmos; its sole purpose.
The flower didn’t know that he was planted in this patch of earth by humans. That the earth was but a small opening in the concrete of a vast parking lot. That the ground had sufficient water because of small watering pipes leading all the way to the central city reservoir. And that the reason they were still flowing was an obscure line item in the city’s irrigation budget, which at that very moment was being put to a vote.