Chapter 24W
alking across the bridge to retrieve the mail, Rita notices the fading clumps of daffodils along the brook, the stands of shell pink tulips at the foot of the bridge. The trees are furred with pale green buds, the grass a sharper green than the day before. The forsythia branches have a chartreuse cast, weeping willows drip lime green wands. She steps carefully around the fronds and shoots poking up through the damp earth. As she bends over a mound of huge green and white striped leaves unfurling, she notices a slender. green stalk, like an antenna protruding from the center of the plant.
A man stands a respectful distance away. Coils of rubber hose hang from his shoulder.
“Good morning,” Rita says, walking toward him.
“Ed.” He extends his hand. “I live down the lane, met yo
