In a distant land, among blue lakes and lush fields, there was a small lawn on which a wide variety of meadow flowers grew. They delighted the eye and touched the soul with their unique beauty and surprisingly delicate aroma. Among the herbs, several flowers stood out (they began to be called Beautiful), which managed to achieve a special expressive beauty and delicate aroma by long pumping and filtering of the juices. Their work was successful, everyone saw it and admired it. Now each flower tried to imitate them, working with its internal juices. The meadow became prettier, it stretched out like a blooming carpet, crowning the golden ears of the field on one side and the azure waters of the lake on the other. The sky shone in the morning dew on the delicate petals of the opening buds. The sun gracefully illuminated and awakened us in the morning and lulled us to sleep at sunset. A frequent guest, the wind carried fragrant aromas throughout the area. The meadow was full of the caress of birds and animals. Birds, butterflies and bees created a sweet-sounding melody in this amazing enchanting silence, which was reminiscent of the beauty of Paradise. Everything would be fine, but for the Beautiful Flowers, Paradise began to seem not like Paradise. They began to find flaws in other flowers. Yes, and there were special flaws: whoever blossomed more luxuriantly - to the backyard of it, so that it would not be an eyesore and would not suppress others; who began to exude a more delicate aroma - cover it with a cap so that it does not cause allergies... What happened to the Beautiful? They stopped seeing external beauty and talking about it, and they themselves began to dry out and wither away. But now they began to talk a lot about inner beauty, known only to them, and to teach others about this beauty. What happened? ENVY penetrated their juices, which dried up the outer beauty, poisoned the inner, and the inner fragrance disappeared. But the Beautiful Ones did not notice this in themselves, but the riot of colors and the taste of the aroma in others began to irritate them. The only consolation for them was to inject their poison into other flowers. The more they injected, the blacker they themselves became... But what about the other flowers? Yes, they faded a little, they missed the birds and bees, of which there were fewer. However, the familiar wind comforted them as best it could and did not let them get bored. He sang songs, touchingly stroked the petals and looked into the eyes. The rain washed with warm transparent droplets, returning the strength of the aroma. The morning dew continued to give colorful beads, and the sun never tired of giving rays and caressing with its warmth. The beautiful ones could no longer stop. They insisted that there were lies all around, that the end would soon be over and that everyone would die if they stopped believing them; that the news has come to their juices: the Gardener will come soon, but it will be after the great collapse. And they began to strengthen their bridgehead, paving and concreting a pedestal for themselves. What about other flowers? Yes, they also believed in the Gardener, but they continued to bloom quietly and greet every new day with joy, and bestow joy and beauty for every moment they lived, for every breath, for every glance, for every mercy, affection and grace. One day, in fact. A huge cloud covered the entire sky, lightning flashed, splitting the sky into two parts, and a swift whirlwind of wind and thunderstorm rain tore all the colors and herbs of the meadow from the ground and gathered into one armful... The sun shone again, a rainbow flashed in the sky, and with the ringing singing of birds and the Gardener appeared with the fluttering of butterflies. He looked around the meadow, sat down next to an armful of flowers and began carefully sorting through the flowers, putting them to the right and then to the left. He had a special evaluation criterion that many flowers were not even aware of, and it was LOVE.*P.