this morning #1282.

this morning, we were picking the last of the flowers out of the garden. tucking & weaving them into each other’s hair. making a bouquet for mom. the old man who lived here passed away this past summer & though his family came & cleaned out the contents of his cabin, they apparently had no need for the beauty he’d planted all around it. way too concerned about the furniture, i guess. the way we see it, winter’s coming. it’s a wonder that these flowers are even still alive. if we don’t take them, they’ll just freeze to death & die anyway. that’d be a shame. at least this way they’ll get one last gasp, one final chance to bring joy to the world. then, if they like, they can shrivel up & die.