Man.
Woman.
I've learned from my human, as he apparently is in fact a male, about the creatures themselves and their parts, each special in their own way and their own beauty marking them. I never knew that they could be different. But they can be, as my human had lamented one bright sunny day as he called the rain upon us again without the clouds to darken the sky. (What a gift.) He had called for a woman, one to start a family with, to make children to keep us (Us flowers!) alive for every other human to see.
He cried once. Another rain he had made, but it was salty, bitter. Sadness poured from his eyes, and I wanted so desperately to make his lips twitch upwards again. But I couldn't. I could only stand there, and watch as he suffered while we drank the sun with great joy.
