Daisy Dimple believed that flowers listened.
Not to everyone. Just to her.
When she pressed her palms into the dirt behind her house in Primrose and whispered kindly, seeds trembled with excitement. When she smiled—especially when her left cheek dimpled—something in the soil seemed to wake up.
“My name is Daisy Dimple,” she often introduced herself to new neighbors, standing tall despite being only ten. “I grow gardens where gardens shouldn’t be.”
Sidewalk cracks. Mailbox posts. The dusty edge of the hardware store parking lot.
If there was dirt—even a sprinkle—Daisy could make something bloom.
Her older brother Billy did not appreciate this gift.
He preferred noise. Sparks. Anything that crackled.
“You and your weeds,” Billy muttered one afternoon, watching Daisy kneel beside a thin strip of dry earth near the driveway. Tiny green shoots were pushing upward.
“They are not weeds,” Daisy said carefully. She didn’t look at him. She had learned that looking at Billy sometimes invited trouble. “They are moon-petaled starblooms.”
“They look like lettuce that gave up,” he said.
Daisy pressed her lips together. She wished, not for the first time, that her brother could see what she saw—the way each bud carried a promise.
Billy shuffled his sneakers on the pavement. Lately he had discovered that when he dragged his feet across the driveway in just the right way, tiny blue sparks snapped from his fingertips.
“Bet you can’t make flowers grow in Grandpa’s backyard,” Billy said suddenly.
Daisy hesitated.
Grandpa Blum’s backyard was enormous. Mostly bare. Patchy grass. Hard soil.
But Daisy imagined it—rows of color beneath the old wooden fence. Tulips along the shed. Sunflowers near the garage.
She could almost smell it.
“I could,” she said quietly.
Billy smirked. “You’d never finish,” he said.
The doubt landed heavier than she expected.
That evening, Grandpa Blum found Daisy staring at his yard through the chain-link fence. The grass seemed to brighten beneath her smile.
“What are you plotting, young gardener?” he asked, leaning on his cane.
Daisy didn’t like to call her ideas plots. Plots sounded sneaky. She preferred plans.
“I think your yard feels lonely,” she said.
Grandpa looked around. “Lonely?”
“It doesn’t have anything to look forward to,” she said.
Grandpa studied her face. When Daisy spoke about gardens, her dimple always appeared without permission.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I am hosting the Fourth of July party next week. Suppose this yard could use some anticipation.”
Daisy’s heart fluttered.
“You mean—?” she interrupted. “I could plant flowers for it!”
“I mean,” Grandpa smiled, “if someone wanted to attempt a miracle, I wouldn’t stop her."
Daisy didn’t sleep much that night.
She made lists. She drew maps. She imagined where each color should live.
The next morning she began.
The soil was stubborn. Hard and clumpy. Daisy had to press with both knees to break it apart. Sweat trickled behind her ears. She told the seeds stories as she planted them.
“You’ll love it here,” she whispered. “There’s music sometimes. And lemonade.”
By afternoon her arms ached, but the first row was complete.
Billy appeared at the fence.
“You’re still doing this?” he asked.
Daisy kept her eyes on the dirt. “Yes,” she said, shielding the garden with her shoulder.
Billy hopped the fence and landed in the far corner of the yard. He dragged his sneakers back and forth until faint sparks flickered at his fingertips.
Daisy felt the air prickle.
She did not like the way Billy looked at the freshly planted beds.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
Billy grinned and clapped his hands.
A crackle of blue light darted from his palms into the soil.
For one terrible second, Daisy thought she heard something whimper beneath the ground.
She scrambled forward and pressed her hands flat against the dirt.
“Please grow,” she whispered.
The earth felt warm. Too warm.
Billy laughed and jumped back over the fence.
That night Daisy returned with a watering can and a flashlight. She knelt in the dark and listened.
The soil still felt unsettled. Restless.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured to the seeds. “I should have protected you better.”
The next morning, tiny sprouts had appeared—but they were pale and droopy.
Daisy’s chest tightened.
She could quit.
She could tell Grandpa it was too big.
She could let Billy win.
Instead, she went to the shed and found the old copper wind chimes Grandma used to hang from the porch.
She suspended them above the garden beds.
When the breeze moved through, the chimes sang.
Not loudly.
But steadily.
Daisy noticed something remarkable: whenever the chimes rang, the soil cooled from Billy’s sparks.
She returned every hour that day to hum along with them. Her dimple appeared as she sang. She imagined roots stretching downward, finding comfort in the music.
By the third day, the pale sprouts deepened to green.
Billy watched from the porch.
On the morning of the party, the yard had transformed.
Tulips leaned toward the fence. Sunflowers lifted their faces proudly. Irises lined the walkway like a parade.
Daisy stood in the center, hardly breathing.
She had done it.
Neighbors began to arrive. They gasped and clapped and asked questions Daisy could barely answer because her throat felt too full.
“Did you really grow all this in a week?” someone asked.
Daisy nodded.
She saw Billy slip toward the garden hose.
Her stomach flipped.
He twisted the nozzle.
Water burst forward.
Without thinking, Daisy ran.
She planted herself between Billy and the nearest flower bed.
“Stop,” she said.
Her voice shook—but she did not move.
Billy hesitated.
The hose sputtered. Water splashed harmlessly against Daisy’s shoes.
“You can’t guard the flowers forever,” Billy muttered.
“Maybe not,” Daisy replied. “But I can stand here right now.”
The wind chimes stirred overhead.
A low hum moved through the yard.
Billy glanced at the flowers.
For a brief moment, Daisy thought she saw something flicker in his expression—not mischief, not anger.
Uncertainty.
He lowered the hose.
The chimes rang again.
Daisy stayed where she was. Her legs trembled, but she did not move. The wind chime hummed above her. She didn’t need to shout.
One sunflower, tall and golden, tilted gently toward Billy and released a small cloud of bright yellow pollen.
It settled softly in his hair.
Billy blinked.
The sparks at his fingertips fizzled out.
He looked down at his hands, surprised.
Daisy didn’t smile triumphantly. She didn’t gloat.
She simply stepped aside.
“If you want,” she said, “you can help me plant more tomorrow.”
Billy scuffed his shoe against the grass.
“I don’t even like flowers,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Daisy answered. “They might like you anyway.”
He didn’t say yes.
But he didn’t say no.
As music filled the yard and lemonade glasses clinked, Daisy felt something stronger than victory.
Not magic.
Not even pride.
Courage.
The garden shimmered in the late afternoon light, and Daisy understood something important: Flowers did listen.
But sometimes, people did too.
And that was the real miracle.
The wind chime rang once more.
Copyright 2023, 2026 Jennifer Waters
Pen Jen's Inkwell Podcast version:
“My name is Daisy Dimple,” announced the 10-year-old girl, who turned parking lots and sidewalks into gardens in the small town of Primrose. She loved the fragrance and beauty of flowers so much that all she could do was smile. “I make flowers and smiles spring up in the most unusual places.”
“Oh, you’re just Crazy Daisy,” bullied her 13-year-old brother Billy. He was jealous of her daisies and her magic “hypnotizing” dimple that caused people to do what she wanted when she smiled. “I hate your daisies,” Billy threatened, smashing her latest batch of flourishing flowers that grew through cracks in the ground. The white petals floated to the concrete sidewalk in bits.
“You’re the crazy one, Lil’ Boy Buster!” Daisy replied, scattering more flower seeds in the trail around her neighborhood. “You stick your finger in electric wall sockets for the thrill of the little buzz, and then you try to shock people! You’re going to electrocute yourself and hurt someone else!”
With that, Lil’ Boy Buster ran himself into Daisy, slinging her onto his shoulders. He had enough electricity in his body from his latest wall socket charging that Daisy’s hair frizzed.
“Beating me up is very small of you!” Daisy yelled as her bangs crackled.
“I’m using you for tackling practice,” Buster joked, throwing Daisy to the grassy ground. She always had bruises from his bullying, but he claimed it was her fault because her flowers made him sneeze. “Achoo! I’m allergic to you and your petals!” he taunted.
Laying in pain on the ground, Daisy wished she had enough courage to stand up to him once and for all—but Daisy was too nice to people and always tried to help them with their problems. Lil’ Boy haughtily ran into her family garage, laughing to himself, and slamming the side the door.
Days later, after seeing all Daisy’s bruises, Grandpa Blum came up with a plan to help her look good to the neighborhood friends, who could keep Buster from attacking her again.
“Could you build me a garden for my Fourth of July party?” Grandpa Blum asked her with a daisy sticking from his ear. “Your flowers are so beautiful, and I need a garden for my party. I’ll pay you a bunch for it!”
“I would love to build you a great and grand garden!” Daisy cheered, shining her glorious dimple at Grandpa Blum. “My earnings can go toward the end-of-summer class field trip. It’s a day at the beach! So, I can get away from Buster.”
The next morning, Daisy started by planting flowers along the fence in Grandpa Blum’s backyard. At first, Daisy was unsure that she could complete such a large task.
“This might be a bigger job than I thought!” Daisy sighed, looking at the rest of the empty space that needed flowers.
“I am confident that you can finish the garden in time!” Grandpa encouraged her. “I secretly want to prove Lil’ Boy Buster wrong. You are definitely not crazy, Daisy.”
While landscaping Grandpa Blum’s yard, Daisy branched out beyond daisies with many different flowers, such as roses, irises, orchids, tulips, daffodils, buttercups, sunflowers, carnations, and poppies.
“I’m almost done,” Daisy collapsed in the garden next to a tulip. “I’m going to have to work through the night.” Finally, two days before the party, she finished the garden.
“Oh, you think you’re so savvy,” Lil’ Boy Buster hollered, jumping over the backyard fence out of nowhere. “Crazy Daisy went crazy again planting more flowers than she knows how to keep alive!”
“Get out of here, Buster!” Daisy wailed. “Grandpa is going to find out if you cause any problems!”
Despite Buster’s threats, Daisy was so happy with the garden. “I think I’d like to live here!” Daisy delighted, watching Buster run away.
“See you for the garden party on Saturday, Daisy!” Grandpa reminded, kissing her on the cheek. He walked out of the garage as Buster disappeared.
“I’m so proud of all your hard work. Give these to your mother,” Grandpa heartened, handing her a bouquet of flowers.
Daisy walked down the sidewalk, scattering seeds as she made her way back home for the evening.
“I’m gonna get her!” Buster threatened, looping back around Grandpa Blum’s house. “You might as well say I’m a bulldozer.”
Overnight, Buster found the garden hose and stretched it into the middle of Daisy’s flower haven. He turned the hose on high and let the water run until a large pond took over the garden. Then, Buster unleashed a cage of rodents to eat any leftover flowers.
“Go get ‘em!” Lil’ Boy whispered, opening the cage door into the garden.
For a finishing touch, Buster sent an electric shock wave through the soil, sure to kill the roots of the flowers. “Take that!” the brat cried, as he zapped the entire garden with electricity.
In the morning, Grandpa Blum stood in shock at what had happened to his beautiful garden. “It looks like there was a bad storm!” he lamented, but then gazed at the neighbors’ backyards, realizing that their gardens were intact.
“Only Lil’ Boy Buster would do this to Daisy!” he concluded, noticing the muddy footprints the size of Lil’ Boy Buster’s on the patio. “How do you prove it was Buster?”
“What in the world happened!” Daisy cried, looking at the mess and throwing a handful of flower seeds into the air. Even her “magic” dimple was not enough to fix the mess.
“We could still rebuild in time for the party!” Daisy insisted, as rodents scurried past her feet with flowers in their mouths. “Buster did this! He is the worst brother in the whole world. What is wrong with him?”
“I’ll help you go to the local garden store for new flowers,” Grandpa Blum said, grabbing his jacket and hat from the garage. He started up his green truck, and he and Daisy set off for more flowers. “This is just one more life lesson that we didn’t know we needed!”
“A lesson in how to plant as many flowers as possible,” Daisy quipped, almost remembering the power of her dimple.
Upon returning with more flowers to plant, Daisy set traps for the rodents and leveled the ground with new fertilizer. One by one, she planted the new flowers in the garden.
As the stars came out for the night, Daisy stayed up until the morning, planting flowers and keeping watch over the backyard, hoping to catch Lil’ Boy Buster—but he never returned.
“If you want to sleep out here, it’s fine with me,” Grandpa Blum said, “but at least use a sleeping bag.” He unrolled a blue comfy bag with a flashlight tucked into it.
The next morning, Daisy planted more flowers right up until the party, but she still wasn’t done.
“Could you help me plant these flowers?” Daisy asked each of the neighbors as they arrived until the garden was finished. Her magic dimple made each of them say: “Yes.”
“Maybe we could hire you to plant a garden for us?” the neighbors asked, wanting to hire Daisy to build them masterpieces of their own.
Then, without warning, Daisy spotted Lil’ Boy Buster with a water gun strapped around his body and the garden hose in his hands.
“Don’t even think about it!” Daisy yelped, wrestling him to the ground and planting a flower on his head before he could shock her with an electric bolt.
As Daisy flashed her dimple, the flower took root, and Buster could not pull it out of his head. “That will teach you!” Daisy snapped.
“Aaaah!” he screamed, running from his sister in fear. “What happened to my head? Someone, pull this flower out of my head!”
Despite Buster’s effort to remove the flower from his head, he could not expel it.
“It’s going to cause me brain damage!” Buster screeched. “I can feel its roots!”
Later, when Daisy’s parents saw the wonderful garden in Grandpa Blum’s backyard, they were upset at Lil’ Boy Buster’s tirade.
“Buster didn’t get away with his bad behavior this time!” Mr. Dimple chided. “I saw the flower Daisy planted in his head. Oh, well, he can’t browbeat her anymore. I guess the flower will stay there until the seasons change.”
“I’m not sure what to do about the flower!” Mrs. Dimple commented. “Daisy, how long do you think the flower will stay in his head?
“I’m not sure, Mom,” Daisy answered. “I just planted it like everything else.”
“Can you make our backyard into a beautiful paradise as well?” her dad asked.
“Sure, Dad, I’ll start tomorrow,” Daisy agreed, shining her famous dimple at him.
“Lil’ Boy Buster can no longer call Daisy ‘crazy,’” Grandpa urged, looking at both of Daisy’s parents. “It’s not nice to call people nasty names.”
“Daisy has never been crazy,” her father agreed.
“She’s just enthusiastic about planting flowers!” her mom reassured.
“Maybe Buster can replant the flower from his head in Grandpa’s garden instead of destroying it,” Daisy wondered, not knowing that Buster heard her, as he hid behind the shrubs in the backyard.
Having a momentary change of heart toward Daisy, where he felt electric tingles everywhere, Lil’ Boy Buster removed the growth from his head and planted the awkward flower in Grandpa Blum’s garden.
“I’m free of her stupid flower!” Buster groaned.
Roots and all, the flower stood tall in his grandfather’s soil, and Buster slumped off in defeat. However, his momentary remorse did not last for long. “I’m gonna get back at Crazy Daisy for what she did to me! She planted a flower in my head, and it still hurts,” he vowed.
“I’m so glad that I finally stood up to Buster!” Daisy relished in victory. “He is only my little bitty brother. He’s not going to torment me anymore.”
“The garden party is a huge success,” Grandpa Blum triumphed.
“I’ll have more than enough money for my class field trip,” Daisy told her grandfather with gratitude. “I’m going to donate the rest of the money to planting a garden at the local Community Center. Flowers need to take over the world!”
Copyright 2023 Jennifer Waters
https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/the-dilemmas-of-daisy-dimple
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