By the time I shut down my iPhone for the night, I was really missing Z again, the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. Satisfying myself to his memory was hollow in the end and set me up for a fitful night of frustration over personal and national turmoil.
Heading out for work the next morning, I nearly tripped over the flowerpot I’d left in the middle of the lawn. In a hurry to get on the road, I just picked it up, popped the trunk, stuck it in there, and brought it with me.
* * * *
Days went by. Within less than a week, the bright yellow crocus blossoms faded, shriveled, and fell away. Spring flowers had a very short show time, I’d read online. Attention spans were short, too, at least when it came to news. Interest in the happy faces dissipated as quickly as the plants t
