Smack in the middle of January in Southern California and I’m cross-legged in the backyard. It’s 80+ degrees and the sun is warming my back as fingers fly on the keyboard and the youngest naps.
I could pinch myself.
The sky is the electric blue and far off I hear a lawn being mowed. A yellow bud catches my eye and I wonder when she’ll smile for us, radiant petals lifting their gazes heavenward. Empty bowl by my knee, chipped and worn- almost ten years it’s moved from apartment to townhome to cottage, settling into different cupboards and feeding hundreds of mouths holding soup, ice cream, and parfait snacks.