Flowers on Sunday in Pinks and Cherries

Cherries and pinks (dianthus).  Poor cherry tree split in two during the storm, and the homeowner said I could cut whatever I wanted.  Usually people tell me ok.  Maybe I do look a little crazy, standing on the front step in my floppy peachy hat and indescribable hair, brandishing my dollar-store pruners and fit-over-glasses shades.

I still miss someone, and my heart and body are brimming over with that silence. There’s nothing I can do to change the situation, and the time has passed when things could have gotten better.  I didn’t expect my initial sadness to echo in a second wave with so much force, after all this time. I still feel surprised sometimes when I catch my true feelings out of the corner of my eye.  Hope is the biggest secret I keep from myself.

So let’s just act like it’s summer that is breaking my heart – with her pinks and cherries, stocks and sweet peas, tiger lilies and fireflies and sun-baked grasses.

Because she always, always does.

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