My lover lies near me, beautiful and still, as the first of five promised flowers sprouts from her dead left eye. I don’t know its name. It has a short, strong stem, with seven pointed yellow-orange petals and a sweet, unfamiliar smell.

I love the brightness of the flower, the warmth of it. Not cool, like the pale blue forget-me-nots she adored, which bloom in clusters now around the trees and shrubs that span the wilds between our small stone cottage and the river, the place she called her garden.Continue Reading

It’s near dusk as I round the corner, heading away from the town’s paved streets. Mom told me not to go, but she knew I’d go anyway. Like mother, like daughter.

I make a left turn, then a right. Bright Freesia blossoms line the alley-ways between the houses and cottages, shifting in the gentle breeze, and the air’s thick with their scent. In daylight, these alleys are a maze we play in. But at dusk, you can get through.Continue Reading