I remember the day we planted the seeds. It was hot, for May, and the ground was a little dry from the lack of rain.
Her hands were wrinkled, but still strong, from a lifetime of work. I loved how they caressed the soil as she dug out little troughs for the seeds.
I treasured days with her, she smelled of lemon soap and clean linen. Her hugs were many and that of a bear, despite her age, making me feel safe.
She promised me a patch in her garden after a walk one balmy August afternoon. I’d spotted a field of wild flowers and she saw my face; a spark lit.
Since she passed, some ten years gone, a part of my heart is always dead, until, the wild flowers bloom. Then, on the warm breeze, I smell lemon soap and I feel her there, with me.
Writing, learning and connecting with March prompt-a-day over at write alm; today’s is ‘the stars make no noise’.