Once upon a time in Concord, there lived a field of sunflowers, numbering perhaps a thousand or more. These sunflowers grew very close, their little heads pivoting together, each following the sun as he moved through the sky from dawn until dusk. Everyone in accord, everyone the same, each keeping pace with his companions.

Everyone, that is, except for Henry. Henry faced in one direction and one direction only. He did not move with the sun as the other sunflowers did.

Every morning about 10:30, all the other flowers would rotate until they faced in Henry's direction. Then, for a moment, everyone was marching in step together. But it lasted only a fleeting second, and as the others moved on, they left Henry intent upon his favored direction, gazing into the distance as if he heard some source of far away music.

Henry's lack of obedience to the rules all sunflowers must follow made the rest of them very nervous. "Doesn't he realize he makes us uncomfortable with his eccentric ways?" "Why does he need to be so difficult?" they would whisper to each other as they shook their leaves in irritation. They weren't altogether pleased to have Henry in THEIR sunflower patch. On this matter, everyone was in accord, everyone was the same, each kept pace with his companions.

Everyone, that is, but Henry. Henry had long ago learned to reconcile himself to the protestations of the other plants. It wasn't as if he could change his nature: he knew he HAD to be the way he was. And the others in their turn had freedom to follow their own heartfelt pursuits. It was a private matter and one to which he applied himself without pause.

The summer days went by and the sunflowers lost the bright petals of their blooms. They each set many seeds, the weight of them bowing them downwards as they plumped. Soon, the chickadees were flitting over, hanging upside-down from the seedheads, plucking the rich plunder from the plants, scattering many seeds in their gluttony. And thereby assuring the next year's crop of sunflowers.

"So soon?" sighed the sunflowers as the fall progressed and the first killing frost visited one evening.

After the sun rose and set and rose and set more times than a sunflower could count, the air began to warm again. The breezes blew fragrant and moist and the spilled seed from the previous fall began to swell and sprout. And like their parents, they, too, grew to blossom with many bright petals as the summer's heat came on.

But unlike those who came before, these sunflowers did NOT follow the sun: they all faced in the direction where the sun would be at about 10:30 each morning. They all adopted Henry's direction, though he was sire for only a few.

"Henry was right," they all whispered. "It IS so much better we hear his different drummer...that we step to the beat which HE heard." So it came to pass that all sunflowers that season devoted themselves to Henry's way. It became a trend...a fad...the fashion of the summer. Each wore this focus as a badge of their status and accomplishment. Anyone who might have differed would have been seen as eccentric...difficult.

And as the long warm days flowed by and the sun took on autumn's chill, everyone was in accord, everyone was the same, and each kept pace with his companions.